


All Eyes On Me

by ibgarry



Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Blackmail, Cabarets, Eventual Smut, F/M, Ib - Freeform, Ib/Garry - Freeform, Older Characters, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 44,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibgarry/pseuds/ibgarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garry worked at a cabaret for years with the same people. He wasn't entirely used to meeting new employees, but he was willing to get used to Ib.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha OH MAN OKAY i dont remember what started this fic but i know something sparked the idea. my heart tells me it was probably listening to panic at the disco too much but i dont trust myself on that one. honestly who gives a shit
> 
> i hope you enjoy this fic, especially because i somehow stuck this one out and finished eighteen fucking chapters of this gay stripper shit i CANNOT believe it. how did i do it. what a world

Rosie’s Cabaret at the edge of town wasn't as shabby as most, although its name would suggest so. It had been around for ages, and Garry had never seen the building as anything but a club in all the years he'd lived in that town, driving past the building during morning and afternoon routines. Before he began work there, the building was nothing less than terrifying to him... until he discovered that its staff were all considered family to one another, which relieved Garry quite a bit. Each performer was close with the other and knew anything about anyone, regardless of the state of any two people's relationship. Garry was lucky enough to work with a small staff body, one that treated him well. Because of this, he’d never felt a need to leave Rosie’s.

He had since grown used to his forced facade of constant enjoyment that he had learned to hold for as long as his shifts lasted. It was never too hard to pull off, at least for him. He was never really alone on stage when he announced, either. For the most part, he had people cheering after everything he said (although, it wasn't always for him, admittedly). He and his co-announcer had a sort of brotherly bond, as well, of which he was incredibly grateful for.

Then there was Mary, the owner's daughter, who was a performer herself. She had an array of fans and regulars who Garry had seen frequently. They came just for her, usually, and Mary went out to say hello to her regulars whenever they showed up. The other dancers had these as well, but not nearly as many as Mary, nor did they have the time to greet fans face-to-face unless it was for haggling. Frankly, Mary was very loud and, with her father running the building, she had a spacious advantage over everyone else, so Garry had casually avoided her. He couldn’t avoid her when she approached him or ran into him in the back alley out of the fear of being fired, but she was bearable for at least a minute or so. Most of their encounters were initiated by Mary herself and were, unfortunately for him, fateful.

Because the dancers were all so tight-knit in their relationships, newbies were a sort of treat for them, especially since a dry season of good news was, more or less, commonplace. Because everyone was already comfortable with each other, the manager didn’t like to hire new performers; fitting them into routine was hard enough. Garry had seen enough people come and go in the time he had worked at Rosie’s, so it was really nothing new to him; he’d learned how to adapt to changes in schedule. It was his job to conform, after all.

The manager called an impromptu meeting to be held fifteen minutes before the night began. There, he announced a new brunette, nineteen years old. She would be one of the younger performers in the cabaret, alongside Mary. She had applied there of her own accord, which was pretty audacious for someone so young considering Rosie’s was never really hiring, nor was the boss exactly open to accepting applications. In order to have a chance to apply, you had to perform well over a long period of time, so word of God essentially meant she was _incredible_. Despite his strict standards, the manager was excited himself by the news he’d delivered, seeming quite positive about his decision. Mary cheered her father on, more excited about his announcement than meeting the new girl herself.

It was a good night for Rosie’s. After the long night of performances came to a close and Garry retreated to the narrow back hall, Mary was already quick on her feet with a circle of performers who had long been off the stage, sharing gossip that the new girl would be arriving the following night. In a way, she was already a celebrity, though none of them had seen her perform. They were ecstatic. Some of the performers planned on arriving early the following night. It was Garry’s job to be there before anyone else, so he had no reason to fret.

* * *

The girl was there, like everyone had guessed, early in the evening, speaking to the manager at a table in the otherwise-empty audience. The manager was impossibly loud—he had a better announcing voice than Garry, and he often wondered why he didn't announce instead (to which he answered his own question: he was old). The new girl was small in her velvet-lined chair, and she was making a distressing effort to listen to what her new boss was trying to say.

Garry tried to ignore them, going about his own business.

His podium was in the far corner of the stage, a couple papers sitting against the ledge. He could tell from across the room that they were all schedules, nothing else. If they were already up there, then they must have been for him; he shuffled across the stage, trying not to catch the eye of the manager.

As he made his way across the stage, he heard the painful call of his name. Garry had no choice but to redirect his attention, stopping in his tracks.

Meeting this girl wasn’t an annoyance as much as it stressed him out to be talking to someone he wasn’t familiar with; small talk was never a hobby of his. He hopped gracefully off the stage, stepping to the table. The manager stood up and gestured to the girl. Garry straightened his tie, sweat already collecting in a pool beneath his collar.

"Garry, this is Ib, our new performer." Ib stood up and stretched out her hand to him.

Garry stooped to kiss her hand; when he stood, he could tell such a greeting was not something she was used to. "An honor to meet you," he tacked on, despite her reluctance. She didn’t wipe her hand off, although she seemed to be itching to do so, and he was somewhat embarrassed, wondering if it had been a good idea to greet her that way.

"Garry, if it’s not too much trouble, could you help her around? Just for tonight." Garry was not compelled to ask what sort of work his boss was going to do. The manager stepped away quickly and made his way to the front door, leaving Ib in Garry's company.

She brushed off her skirt when the silence hung heavy over the two of them. Garry analyzed her; she was shorter than most, but still thin, which his manager surely appreciated. Her face was round and rosy, but her eyes weren't as kind-- a deep, mesmerizing red. If her eyes weren't enough to intimidate him, her eyeliner surely was.

Garry offered a hand. "Shall we?"

She nodded and took it, stepping around the table. Her heels clicked against the linoleum floor. "Sorry for the trouble.”

"No, not a problem," He assured her, unable to not notice how clammy her hands were. He discarded the thought. "Ib, is it?"

"Yeah." Garry realized she was avoiding eye contact with him; her eyes darted around the room, watching everything but him. He signaled slowly for her to follow, and in a flash she was right on his heels.

"Did the boss say anything about your dressing room?" He asked.

"He said I shared my room with... Mary?" She spoke as if Mary's name was a joke of its own. Garry cringed.

"Alright, I'll walk you there. It's not far." Ib walked alongside him.

The click of her heels was all that filled the silence. She dressed really well, despite the fact that she would be changing out of her nice clothes in an hour’s time. She would probably stop dressing so well over the course of a few weeks, Garry thought.

Ib needed no signal to follow Garry as he opened the door to the back hall, swamping both of them in a veil of fluorescent lighting and laminate. It inspired images of department store bathrooms, much to Ib's dismay.

The hall was mostly vacant aside from all the clothing racks and prop bins, but he could hear the distant voices of other girls somewhere in the building. The second door to the right was Mary's. Each door was always unlocked, which was a trend Garry quickly noticed during his first few weeks on the job. He pushed open the door, and Ib ducked under his arm as he held the door open for her. As Garry peered in, he was grateful to find Mary had not yet arrived for the night. She was often "fashionably late".

Garry hesitated in the doorway, not entirely sure if staying to help was necessary. There was a third rack of clothes in the room in the far corner, many of them an iconic dazzling red, and Garry blindly imagined that it belonged to Ib. Carrie’s wardrobe was at the front of the room, a selection of pearly blues and pastel pinks.

He had helped every performer in the staff body get ready at least three times over, Mary and Carrie included, so he was very familiar with the wardrobes of most dancers and the dancers themselves. Stripping down around other people was only something new to Ib, so he felt that offering to help was pushing a social boundary Ib had yet to adjust to.

"Don't be afraid to ask for help, alright?" He told her. Ib turned hesitantly to the sound of his voice. "The ladies would all be glad to help you out."

She smiled warmly with a nod, turning to the vanity. She popped the latch to a black makeup kit, and it swung open.

Concerned that he'd left her in the dark with his instructions, he continued, "Will you be alright without me here?" He shifted his weight.

"I think so, yeah."

"Alright." He nodded, glancing around the vacant room. "If you need me, send Mary for me. I'll come running."

She was too new to be left alone, but she looked so comfortable and pleased, just sitting in front of her vanity. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the thought of leaving her there, but he had the feeling leaving her alone would have been much more comfortable for both of them. He closed the door behind him and strode down the hall, remembering suddenly the papers he’d left on the stage.

* * *

According to instruction, his co-announcer would be on when Ib was; however, her name was written "Eve" on the schedule. There was no clear effort put into making the schedule besides time frames, worsened by the decision made by his boss of Ib being on stage while Garry would be changing. Both Ib and Garry's coworker were both relatively new, one much more so than the other; he hoped they could coordinate if anything went wrong.

Garry's co-announcer was a good guy, but he was relatively new, which translated simply to cluelessness. The same guy had a bout of stage fright, as well, which wasn't exactly relieving. Garry was nothing less than anxious, but he wasn’t going to start an argument with the manager over something as small as shifts. He trusted his partner enough to handle one new girl.

He ran by Mary and Ib's room, rapping against the door. "You alright in there?" He called. He heard Mary's voice in reply: "Go away!" followed by some scuffling. He hadn’t quite expected Mary to arrive so soon, especially not while he had been away. He heard Carrie inside as well, speaking quietly at first. He caught "No, it's fine..." before Carrie yelled a boisterous "Come on in!"

Ib protested verbally, and her speech wasn't anything Garry could comprehend past the door.

"Do I want to come in?" He countered, knowing Ib was probably changing and Carrie was trying to break her in.

"Oh, don’t fret. He’s seen it all before,” Carrie scoffed, as if Garry couldn't hear her. Ib protested again.

Someone inside opened the door for him. He'd turned away instantly, respecting her unspoken desire to be left alone with those of the same gender, but someone pulled him inside, causing Garry to trip over himself through the threshold.

Garry didn’t turn to face the room. Carrie stepped forward and closed the door in front of him. Garry reached for the door handle to make a quick exit, but Carrie swatted his hand away, scowling. She was already fully-costumed, but she couldn’t have been at work for longer than ten minutes. She was good at quick changes.

She stepped forward, offering a hand. "C'mon, help us out."

"She doesn’t want me in here, Carrie," Garry hissed under his breath, leaning forward.

Carrie glanced over his shoulder. "Ib, do you want Garry's help? See, she said yes."

"I didn’t say anything," Ib's small voice retorted.

"Carrie."

Garry pulled himself up, and she took her own initiative to get in his way.

They eyed each other for a moment before Carrie finally gave, rolling her eyes. "You'd think the girl would be used to being naked in front of other people." The door flew open by Carrie's accord.

"Give it some time, alright?" Garry urged her, attempting to alleviate the tension. "Go easy on her, at least... She's young."

Carrie shut the door on him gently.

Garry stood outside for a moment, hesitating before stepping away. Inside, Garry could still hear Carrie's voice, encouraging Ib to change.

Although it was truly uncommon for most of the performers to be uncomfortable with being naked in the presence of other people, she would get used to it like everyone else did. Maybe not as quickly, but it would come to her naturally at some point.

He felt guilty in a sense, though; if she really was so nervous about her costume, he didn't know how she was going to handle dancing around in all her glory unless Ib managed to find some bizarre confidence in the ideas of voyeurism.

Garry checked the schedule to reassure himself that Ib was second-to-last to perform before he switched out with his co-announcer. The schedule had been written in rows and columns, and he had jumbled a few; she was actually last to perform before he closed. Hopefully, then, he would catch her before he went on for the rest of the night. There was always a chance.

He returned to the back rooms to find everything a bit busier, some of the doors held ajar while the loud voices from other rooms carried out into the hall. Mary's door was open, enough for Garry to walk through. Carrie was sitting in a fold-out chair, texting with a broken prop and hot glue gun in her lap, as if she had been trying to bring herself to make progress on prop repair but was distracting herself with her phone for the  millionth time. Garry stood outside the door, leaning against the wall with a hand on one hip. He could see Carrie easily from the hallway; she had her chair pushed up against the section of undecorated wall near her dressing room door.

"How's the repair work?" Garry asked, and Carrie looked up, laughing dryly.

"Mary gave me this thing to fix." Carrie waved it half-heartedly in the air, letting loose glue-laden parts dangle. Garry realized the prop was a fake pink phone; a button or two had fallen off, dangling by threads of hot glue. She didn't hesitate to drop the thing back in her lap. She continued unenthusiastically, "She ran off to introduce Ib to everyone."

Garry was a little bitter, recalling Ib hadn’t wanted him around in the first place, but he brushed it off; he already had his chance to meet her. "It shouldn’t take longer than a minute," Garry added.  "Repairing the prop, I mean. You might as well just get it done."

"Well, y’know..." She waved her real phone, and Garry knew she didn’t plan on repairing the prop anytime soon. She patted the seat of the chair next to her. "Wanna come sit with me?" 

"I still need to change."

"Oh, right, forgot about that." She clicked her tongue and winked. "You're so classy I often forget you have to wear a costume in the first place." 

Garry chuckled. "Yeah, whatever. Fix the prop."

The door adjacent from Mary's dressing room opened, releasing the noise of many different voices from inside the room into the open hall. Garry turned his attention to the door as Carrie continued texting whoever in God’s name could have been texting her. Mary stepped out of the opposite dressing room with Ib in tow, parting conversation with the girls inside. Ib froze when she saw Garry, her makeup already done and her costume mostly on. He could tell her costume wasn’t completely finished in its arrangement; she was wearing a different blouse, covered in stray powders. Her winged eyeliner was perfectly drawn, and he wondered for a moment if she had done it herself.

Ib was frantic. Garry offered a greeting, but Ib held her hands close to her chest and nodded, smiling feebly as if it would suffice. At that moment, Garry realized that she probably hadn’t wanted him to see her that way a second time around. It was an unavoidable truth that it would happen eventually, but she likely couldn't see eye-to-eye yet.

Mary turned, saw Garry, and ignored his presence, dragging Ib along behind her into the other dressing room, hardly a yard away. Ib stumbled forward as Mary pushed open the door to the dressing room they shared, pulling Ib in with her. Carrie watched them both and he watched Carrie, and when her gaze shifted to a space behind the door, he realized Mary was closing the door to the dressing room. The door slammed shut behind him. Garry moved along. 


	2. Night One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ib's first full night on the job, and she has stage fright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this in chemistry class and i was praying to god no one would notice i was writing about strippers. now, you're probably wondering, did i succeed? haha
> 
> no

After his first announcing shift ended, Garry retreated to the back hall to change, while his co-announcer took over his job for the next hour and a half. The back corridor was crowded already, with some of the performers speaking with each other before their individual shifts. Some sat and some stood, but they were all ready to perform regardless. Only a few carried props, tucked under their arms.

Garry weaved his way through the hall, and a few women greeted him and waved. From the front of the hall, he saw Mary's door had been propped open. A group of girls stood around the door; Garry maneuvered around them.

Carrie had been changing into something different, fixing her hair while she reclined in a chair. She had two different routines with two alter egos, both equally as gorgeous. She had a plain face, something he'd overheard her say (but not necessarily agreed with), but she looked completely different with her hair done how she liked it. She'd pulled her hair up into a wig and was pinning it down; she was great at hiding her hair and securing everything over it. She had three caps laying around on her vanity counter.

Garry knocked on the open door, bringing himself to the girls’ attention. "I'm off for the next hour. Need anything?"

"Water would be great," Carrie requested. The other two girls didn't pay him any mind. "One for each of us, maybe. I’m back on in ten."

"You did great tonight." He paused. "Where is Ib, by the way?"

Carrie stuck her thumb to the curtain against the wall. The tail of the curtain stuck out, and he realized the awkward fold at the end of the curtain was actually Ib, hiding underneath. Mary was sitting on the floor next to her, close enough to see part of her through a crack in the curtain. She was rubbing Ib’s arm gently, a poor attempt to soothe her. They had probably been talking earlier, and he wondered what on earth could have dragged her back there.

He mouthed "she okay?" to Carrie.

"She's a little nervous," she answered, hardly a whisper.

"I'll go get you guys some water."

He ran off to the water cooler and started to fill a couple paper cups. A girl came out of her room, having just finished changing, and offered to help him. He filled up four paper cups, one for himself, and gave the girl two to carry back for him. She trailed close behind.

Garry returned to the room to find nothing had moved. The girl stepped past him and handed a cup to Carrie. He walked across the room, but the girl moved faster than him. Mary took the last cup from her. Mary addressed her as "Lady" when she thanked her. Garry thanked her personally for her help, addressing her directly, and she seemed pleased he had somehow remembered.

Garry kneeled down next to Mary, who was leaning up against the wall beside Ib. Garry mouthed, "how is she?”, but Mary shook her head, miming Ib's nervousness. Garry set his cup down next to him and sat down beside Ib, who had the curtain pulled around her.

"Here, sweetheart." He put the cup of water down next to her. Ib looked at it briefly. "Nervous?"

She nodded promptly, picking up the cup to take a sip. Her hand shook. Mary excused herself with a pat on Garry's shoulder.

Garry took a drink from his own cup. "You’ll blow them away, so don’t worry about it. We might have a reputation, but the audience doesn’t expect much out of the newbies." He made an attempt to pat her shoulder around the curtain. With one hand still wrapped around the curtain to cover her legs, Ib mimicked him. He rested his head against hers, giving her a tight squeeze.

She took a long drink and dabbed at the corners of her mouth, careful not to mess up her makeup. “I’ll get used to it. It's just stage fright."

“You'll get used to it,” He agreed. The curtain fell back off her shoulders. Garry watched her smile as they stood up; he assisted her in standing. She took his hand gratefully, pulling herself up with him.

When she stood, Garry had a full view of her costume. Her outfit wasn’t as much fabric as it was beads, but it was bright red, a sparkling, blinding ensemble. The beads looked to be synthetic glass. Probably plastic. She wasn’t wearing a wig, instead modeling clean-cut bangs and straight brown hair, her natural hair. It was ironed and sprayed; an hour prior, it would have been a mess in comparison. Her lipstick and eye shadow matched her outfit, both bright glittering red. The red suited her, especially with her dark hair, but the makeup was probably too much. Garry knew she hadn’t chosen it. She had pasties on, and he could see how they would be necessary to some extent; the beads weren’t much of a cover. Somehow, it was a cute ensemble. At least the outfit was nice. No one would particularly care about her outfit when she performed.

“She looks great, doesn’t she?” Carrie said.

“She does,” Garry agreed. Ib turned red through her makeup, her bangs brushing against her eyelids.

Mary stood up suddenly, and the quiet noise brought her to Garry's attention. “I’m going to go say hi to the boys before I go back on to finish for the night.” She walked to the vanity mirror, checked herself out, brushed off her miniskirt, and strode to the door. “I’ll be on the floor if you need me.”

She was out in an instant, and the moment the door was closed, Carrie started giggling. “You hurt her feelings when you don’t give her the attention she wants.” She shook her head.

“I don’t think it’s my attention that she wants.” He looked to the door and back. There was a lapse in conversation. “You missed a button on your top, Carrie.”

“No way, really?” She looked down to her chest. One of the four buttons on her top had popped and come undone. “Oh, you weren’t kidding.” She buttoned it up. “That could'a ruined my underboob. Thanks!" She jumped up. "I’m on in ten, so I’ll line up in the hall. Maybe make some new friends.” She laughed. Garry shook his head.

Garry watched as Carrie gave herself a one-over. Ib fiddled with some beads on her skirt; every time she swished her hips, they jingled, and she seemed to occupy herself with doing so for a moment. “Ib, will you be alright in here with Garry?” She asked, focused on finding any flaws in her hair or costume. She fluffed up her pastel blue, curled wig with her manicured nails.

Ib looked up. “I should be fine."

“Alright, wait for me after the show’s over.” She stuck a bow in her hair and patted it down. “I’m off!”

“Have fun,” Garry called after her, and the door slammed shut.

He realized then that he had no idea what to say, and he had made a dire mistake in not keeping someone else in the room with the two of them to fill the atmosphere.

Ib was first to break the silence, stepping forward to see herself in the mirror. “I don’t have to go on for another forty-five minutes, I think…” She lifted her hair away from her face to check her outfit. When she was satisfied, she let her hair fall over her shoulders. “I’m really nervous.”

“Don’t be." Garry made his way towards the center of the room. He pulled a stool from the wall and sat facing Ib. "You’ve performed for the manager, haven’t you?”

She turned to him, dropping her hair. “I _had_ to perform to apply here.”

“Everyone has to. You can’t get in here without being one of the best." He paused. "Do you _really_ have stage fright?”

"Yeah." Her outfit rattled as she walked towards Garry. She pulled up another stool and sat on the edge of the seat. “Don't you need to change?”

He shook his head. “Not for another half-hour.”

She nodded and seemed to understand.

“I can leave now and get dressed, and maybe I’ll catch you before you go on.”

She crossed her legs and thought it over.

“You can go talk to the girls in the hallway. Carrie’s probably still out there.”

She smiled to herself. Garry realized he probably sounded like he was trying to give excuses to get himself out of the situation he was in. “Yeah, that’s a better idea.” Ib stood up from the chair, balancing herself in her blood-red stilettos. She headed for the door, making a passing glance at the mirror. “I’ll see you in a few, then?”

“Alright."

* * *

As much as Garry had tried to stick to his word and slip into a nice costume as quickly as possible, he found himself excessively occupied by his necktie and a button that had fallen off of his long-sleeved collared shirt, something that required sewing before he finally found himself leaving.

When he returned to the hall, Ib wasn’t anywhere in sight. He caught up with Carrie, who had just come back from performing and who he found in a circle of girls, including Lady. She was sweating, but her makeup was perfectly sealed over her face in a mask of product. Lady was waiting with a hankie, and Carrie took it and dabbed her face generously, thanking her; Lady's painted lips curved into a smile.

As Garry approached, Carrie knew what he wanted to know, so she told him: "Ib's already up!"

“Shit, you’re kidding.”

“Where were you?" Carrie was bouncing with excitement.

"Changing!"

"Go around the back or something!"

He ran to the back hall, where the rear entrance to the bar was at the far end. The door was always unlocked, and past it Garry could her the music and applause. He opened the door and ran into the dark.

To his right stood the few bartenders, all on duty; the closest to him gave him a passing glance. Knowing who he was, the bartender ignored him and returned to the drinks he was preparing. Garry couldn't say he knew him.

Garry straightened his shirt. It was dark where he stood, so no one would pay much attention to him. He gathered himself and directed his attention to the stage, and he found Carrie had not lied to him.

Ib was on the thrust stage, and other performers were making their rounds at the tables below. It was hard for a lot of the patrons to not pay attention to her; she was an unfamiliar face. Garry searched for Mary and found her in a circle of men, all watching intently.

Ib stepped carefully around the pole at the center of the room, circling it. She was already entirely familiar with the stage, Garry was sure of it, but the whole act looked so genuine, as if she’d never been on the stage before that night. She had her leg around the pole and turned herself effortlessly, twisting around it without so much as a break. She landed, rolled her body against the bar, bringing herself closer to the floor every time her hips locked. She pulled herself up, around the bar, her thighs wrapped around the polished metal. Across the room, fifteen yards away, Garry could hear the beads on her skirt jingle as they rolled back against her soft hips and snapped against one another.

He snapped back to reality as she pulled back the waistband of her panties, and he could swear she had tens of twenties there in her hip. Scattered around her were ones and fives. The noise was deafening. How long had it been?

Garry ran behind the bar and back into the hall as Ib was just finishing her act; he knew he had to make it to the stage on time for the last hour.

He ran into Carrie, who asked over the noise of the hall, "Did she do well?"

Garry shouted back, "She was incredible!"

By the time he was up on stage, the crowd was still cheering as Ib made her way off. Ib watched him as he leapt up to the podium. He fixed himself and stood as if he had been there from the start of the night.

He leaned into the mic: “Darling, you were absolutely phenomenal!” The strip club veterans were elated. Ib brushed her hair off her shoulder and smiled modestly, stepping behind the curtain.

In the back of the room, he watched Mary in a crowd of men clapping and whooping. Mary clapped and cheered with them, but past her makeup, Garry could tell she was absolutely livid.


	3. Night Two (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ib's second night working. Before looking over schedules, Ib has fun with cigarettes.

The following night, the first to arrive out of the female trio was Carrie, who arrived with a boxed gift in her arms. When Garry gave her a quizzical look, eyeing the gift she had received, she pulled him into the dressing room.

She handled the box very carefully as she lifted its lid, but showed no mercy as she turned it upside down. Ten cigarette cartons tumbled out onto the carpet, thumping against the ground. When she had emptied the box, she dropped the box and its lid on the floor next to the mound.

"One of my fans works down the street at that little convenience store on Tryst," she said. "I dressed up really well just to go down there. Thank God. He called it a one-time discount." Garry was sure it would become a two-time discount next time she visited.

"You're a god, Carrie," He praised her, bringing her into a hug. Carrie squeezed him back.

"You can have three cartons only because I adore you."

"Please marry me."

"Gross. Grab your packs."

* * *

He dropped the cartons in his dressing room, where his co-announcer was lounging in the corner in a beanbag, idling happily on his phone. Garry didn't say a word to him as he put away his gifts. Garry knew the other man didn't smoke, so he knew it was likely nothing would happen to them.

He returned to find Ib had shown up to work. Perplexed by the mound of cigarette cartons on the floor, she gave the situation some thought before stepping around them. She gave him a small "hello" when she noticed Garry and popped open the black makeup kit on the vanity counter.

"Enjoying your smokes?" Carrie joked, turning to Garry in her stool. She had been admiring herself in her mirror. The cabinet below her feet had been propped open. In it, Garry could see four wigs atop her identical mannequin heads. She had a wig on her counter, half-styled.

"I have yet to break them in. Was I gone for that long?"

"No, I was just teasing you." She put her comb down and pulled her t-shirt off over her head. Garry sensed Ib's astonishment from across the room as they both watched. With her shirt around her head, she continued, "Don't you have a schedule to check?"

"Right, might as well get that over with." Garry stepped to the side, but stopped before he could begin his trek to the stage. Carrie stood and made her way to her wardrobe; her arms were outstretched, and in her hand was her shirt, all balled up. "Getting changed so soon?"

"Seems like it," she nodded, shuffling through her clothes rack in her bra. "The boss is on his way to talk to us about it, surely."

Garry stepped out. "I'll be back in a minute."

He shut the door behind him. In the hall, a girl was walking away from him into a dressing room. From behind, he couldn't quite see who she was. In the background, he could hear muffled laughter and the air vents humming overhead.

On his way to the stage, he ran into the manager, who seemed exhausted but thankful to see Garry. He dabbed his forehead with a stained kerchief. "There's been a slight change in schedule." He was heaving. "Have you seen the papers?"

"I was just on my way," he assured him.

"Alright, get on that for me, Garry." He coughed, already out of breath from running around. He wasn't nearly fit enough to be running around managing a cabaret, yet he seemed just the kind to own one.

He watched his boss's face light up as a group of loud chatting girls knocked on the back door, requesting entry. He shouted, "Ladies!" at the door, and there was a loud cheer from beyond the entrance. Garry left him to his work.

He stepped onto the stage and found two papers stapled together-luckily very few, which surprised him, so the night wouldn't be too long.

Ib had taken over someone else's time slot on stage, a girl named Rose, as fate would have it, and he wasn't surprised. It wasn't that Rose just wasn't good, but Ib was probably in the boss's favor. She was on with Garry when he would be announcing, as well, and he found himself glad to have her on stage when he was free to watch her up close. She was light, flexible, and he found her performance more poetic than anything. He wasn't "cultured" to it, but to a trained eye, she was extremely skilled. Garry was nothing short of thrilled.

This schedule was meant for a short night, and even though work was long, it was, after all, a Monday. The schedule, although only lasting a span of three hours, was all over the place. As Garry was realizing how confusing the night would be with so many people switching stage times, he heard the whining complaints of the girls in the back hall, crying to the manager about performing at different intervals without clean transitions. He focused on the papers.

Carrie was opening act. Ib was two acts after. Carrie was on again halfway through. Mary closed. If Ib and Mary weren't on stage the rest of the night like the schedule said, they would be on the floor with their own patrons, which meant hardly any breaks between, if any.

Garry would be announcing only for an hour, which he was relieved to find. Monday was always a good day for him, as contrary as the statement was, because he knew he wouldn't be announcing for very long on Monday nights. His co-announcer would take over for the last two-thirds, as it typically went.

It was realizing his short hours and comparing them to the other cabarets and clubs around town that Garry was thankful he worked for Rosie's instead of a cabaret with eight-hour nights. He was also, in a way, embarrassed, knowing he complained about the very occasional six-hour night more often than not. It felt prestigious, in a strange way, to belong to a strip club that was good enough to perform only for a few hours.

When Garry returned, Carrie had her outfit around her waist, pasties on. Garry was used to it, so he passed her by. At the sight of Carrie standing around topless, he wondered if Ib was adjusting.

Mary still hadn't shown, and Garry was anything but surprised. Ib was lounging in a tank top and skirt; she was about to start on her makeup and had her brushes strewn out, but she had become distracted by her phone. He could tell Carrie and Ib weren't in a rush, knowing they didn't have to be on for another hour and a half.

"You're on first tonight," Garry noted, standing behind Carrie. She was inspecting her face in the mirror. Ib flinched before realizing Garry hadn't been speaking to her.

Carrie nodded, applying concealer to her nose. She didn't look at Garry's reflection as she spoke, too focused on her job. "So I heard. Excited to watch Ib perform?" Ib ignored Carrie and finally started getting to work, smoothing concealer over her cheek. Carrie eyed her for a moment. "Are you planning on worming your way out of that top after you've put all that makeup on?" Garry turned to look.

Ib continued her work. "Too late now, I suppose."

"You've hardly started," Carrie retorted with a taunting giggle. Garry kicked her. Carrie yelped and kicked him back.

"Oh, dont bother her!" Garry cried, and Ib was scarlet. Pouting, Carrie returned to her work. Garry continued, "Do either of you need a drink before you're both past the point of drinking out of a cup?"

"I'll be fine," Carrie replied. She waved her water bottle. She turned to Ib, makeup and bottle in hand. "You thirsty?"

"Water would be nice," she agreed. Garry nodded and stepped out.

The hall was strangely vacant, he realized, but he wasn't too worried; not many people showed up on Monday in the first place. He poured a cup for himself at the water station.

Garry returned shortly, two paper cups in hand. Ib was shuffling behind the curtain when he returned. With every move she made, it danced back and forth. Garry walked over to Ib's vanity and put the water down beside her brushes.

"She's putting on pasties back there," Carrie informed him. Ib whined at her choice of wording from behind the drapes. Garry laughed and took a drink.

Ib stepped out hesitantly, and she blushed down to her chest so the pasties didn't quite give their full effect over the contrast of her red skin. Garry realized then, now that she was closer than a room away, that she couldn't have been bigger than a B-cup (which was being generous), but it only intensified the fact that she had to be special to his boss. He was impressed. Ib retreated quickly to her stool.

Carrie noticed and yelped with joy, satisfied in her attempt to get Ib to strip down. "That's the spirit!" Sometimes, Garry couldn't tell if she was sincerely trying to help Ib adjust to the typical atmosphere of the club or if Carrie was just trying to get Ib out of her clothes.

She sat down in her seat, sulking as she realized she had been persuaded into such a situation.

"What a thin little thing," Carrie's fingers flitted, her acrylic nails clicking against each other. "Sometimes I'm afraid your back will snap in half..." She turned to Garry. Carrie didn't break eye contact as she prepared herself to continue, but Garry cut in.

"Don't bring me into this."

Carrie slammed her makeup onto the table, creating a cloud of powder. "I am tired of your attitude, Garry. Tell the girl she's got a great body."

Garry sat down on a stool. "You've got a great body."

"Thanks." Ib wasn't listening.

Carrie looked up mischievously at Garry, but he continued: "She won't like you if you keep teasing her."

Carrie gasped melodramatically and turned to Ib, her hand over her mouth. "You don't hate me, do you, Ib?"

"No." She was still only hardly listening, but she smiled playfully, setting down her powders. She turned to the two of them. "It's hard to agree myself that I have a great body when I'm the size of a twelve-year-old..." Garry laughed and laughed, and Carrie groaned, kicking his legs out from under his stool. He didn't pay her any mind.

"Don't let yourself be defined by how you look," Carrie announced, "or how thin you might be." Garry rolled his eyes, still grinning. Ib flipped her hair out of her face, continuing with her powder. She glanced at Garry and mimicked his smile, and he was only further elated.

Carrie was quick with her makeup and began to style her wigs. She had plenty of time to waste with them, and she loved doing it. Ib and Garry listened as Carrie spoke about the routines she had planned, and Garry helped with Ib's eye makeup in the meantime. As she mentioned how she'd done the choreography over a few weeks all on her own, she brought a thought to Garry's attention, and he kindly interrupted Carrie to request a moment of Ib's time.

He focused on Ib's makeup, asking, "Ib, did you choreograph all your dances yourself?"

She was having trouble keeping still, and speaking only made it harder on him to apply makeup to Ib's face. "Like… did I plan the whole routine?"

"That's what I'm asking."

She fidgeted, and Garry lifted the brush from her eyelid impatiently with a frown. Ib's eyes sunk. "Sorry. No, it was improvised."


	4. Night Two (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary's regulars are introduced. Garry has some trouble of his own. Later, he assists Ib after the show ends.

When Garry returned from changing, Mary was getting ready in the dressing room. She didn't pay any attention to him as he entered. Carrie and Ib were lazing around on their phones, already in costume. A lit cigarette hung from Carrie's lips. Garry stood in the doorway, uncomfortable with the lack of attention the room was giving him.

"Carrie, we're on in five," Garry notified her. Ib hadn't looked up. Carrie put out her cigarette somewhat reluctantly. She stood up without a word, powering her phone down and throwing it on the nearest chair's seat. Ib set her own phone down on a pile of her clothes, unfolded next to her.

"Want to come along?" Garry offered. Ib nodded and stood up, stretching.

They were all oddly quiet, and Garry wondered if he'd come in at a bad time. He and Carrie stood and waited for Ib to finish stretching. Ib adjusted her costume in the mirror and followed them out.

Silence loomed in the hall, but the click of heels was almost unignorable.

"Did something happen?" Garry asked them both once they were out of earshot of Mary. Carrie's sculpted eyebrows furrowed as she looked at him. Ib turned away.

"Not that I know of," Carrie replied, deeply perplexed. She turned to Ib for a moment, and then watched her footing in silence.

Garry motioned for Carrie to stop. In her peripheral, Carrie understood, and Garry stepped in front of her. Ib stopped before him, and Carrie watched from the side, mildly confused but secretly entertained.

"Is something wrong?" Garry asked Ib as she looked up at him, seemingly shocked at the idea.

She shook her head. "No, I'm fine... why?"

"You seem out of it."

She laughed sheepishly.

Garry sighed. "Don't stress yourself out."

"No one told me it was all supposed to be choreographed."

"I just expected your routines to be choreographed." He reassured her. Carrie nodded in agreement. With a sigh, Ib succumbed to the idea.

They all were still quiet as they stepped backstage and heard the loud music playing over the PA system, the bass overpowering most senses.

Garry felt Ib tug on his jacket. "Hey, does... does Mary not like me?"

"What?" Garry turned to her voice, hardly able to see in the dark behind the curtain. "I... I don't know. You should probably talk to her about that if you're concerned."

"Mm." He could tell in the pitch black that Ib was leaning up against the wall behind her. Carrie fidgeted beside them. She had never liked being an opening act, but she was good despite her anxiety. Garry leaned over and murmured, "You'll do great," and he heard Carrie scoff in the darkness.

Garry stepped out from behind the curtain and Carrie followed suit, just across the stage. He could tolerate the lights tonight; they were never directly on him, but it was hot standing under the general area of the stage lighting even when he wasn't exactly under it. He knew he was going to regret what he was wearing.

The floor wasn't as loud as usual, but he was still pleased with the reaction Carrie immediately received as she followed him out. He introduced Carrie and the night itself briefly as if no one in the room had heard their names before, and his announcement was met with a loud applause. Carrie swayed and waved warmly to the room. On the floor, a portion of the staff were making their rounds around the tables, sitting among the guests with drinks in their hands that other patrons had paid for. Carrie shouted out to the floor something Garry couldn't understand, but it seemed to rile everyone up. It only took another phrase from Garry before he was off-stage until the next performers would fill the next half hour.

His job consisted mostly of running back and forth from his podium to lighting to the PA system. For such a popular cabaret, it was very inefficient, but he didn't complain; technology did a majority of his job for him. The setup, although impractical, had never failed before. He returned backstage and checked the playlist for the night. It was set to stop and go at certain intervals. Everything was functioning correctly, so he didn't bother with it. 

Garry couldn't maneuver around the dark or find a place to sit down; the performers were the only ones with chairs. Behind the curtain, there couldn't have been more than five feet of space from the rear curtain to the back wall. Light came in from the stage, and Garry could see Ib sitting between two other performers, each one of them managing their nails. The performer to Ib's right exited onto the stage as the song was changing. Carrie was still on by the time the girl had left.

"Nervous?" Garry asked her, taking the open seat. Ib shook her head, and her hair moved with her. Ib's makeup was sealed well; she looked painted, which was surely what she wanted. While they waited, she fiddled with the fried ends of her hair.

When the time came, Garry entered the stage with Ib and introduced her. He hadn't expected much of a reaction, but she received a chorus of applause as he said her name. Ib took charge quickly, and Garry stood in the dark just long enough to see her begin before he had to head off.

Garry met Mary backstage, who ignored him while he stood around and waited. Garry watched the playlist go on to a second song and play out and was back on stage by the time Ib had left. At that point, he had a break window, and three more girls came out. He introduced them only for a moment before his job was done.

Ib and Mary were having a conversation amongst themselves when he saw them, both equally distressed, and Garry stood silently to the side. After a minute or so, he caught Mary's eye, and she beckoned him over.

"I'm going to take Ib to meet some of my regulars," she pronounced haughtily. "Want to tag along?"

He gave it a second of thought. He didn't really care to meet anyone, especially Mary's fans, but he supposed it wouldn't hurt. He agreed to come along, and she flashed him a toothy grin.

* * *

She led him and Ib onto the floor, and Garry recognized Mary's regulars immediately; they hollered at the sight of Mary entering the room. Ib was certainly nothing short of terrified. Garry wondered if anyone else could tell how uncomfortable she was.

"Boys!" Mary shouted over the music as she approached the group behind the tables. A burly, bald man replied with "Mary!" and Garry realized the man could have killed him with one punch if he really wanted to.

"I brought out a friend for you all!" Mary beamed, gesturing to Ib and completely overlooking Garry, who was not the least bit surprised. He had never truly felt like a third wheel in a platonic relationship, but he felt then that he could present himself as such.

The men in their booths and chairs said typical, cringe-worthy things to her, like "hello gorgeous" and "hey cutie". Garry didn't flinch.

From behind the group, he heard someone ask, "Where ya from, sweetheart?", and without a beat, Ib replied bashfully, "Nowhere you've ever heard of." They were all thoroughly overjoyed at her clever response.

Garry was ignored for the duration of his visit until a young businessman who was visibly uncomfortable in his seat said to him, "Your announcing tonight was great."

Garry was skeptical, as it wasn't his job to be complimented, but he took the compliment. He nodded toward the businessman. As the man redirected his attention, Garry watched him twist his wedding ring around his ring finger.

Mary could tell Garry wasn't having a good time, so she dismissed him. He left without another word. As he stepped away, he watched Ib attempt to hustle some loud frat boys out of their money. He was mildly amused, but he didn't want to ruin her act, so he ducked away into the back hallway, grinning like a fool.

Garry announced for another thirty minutes after before he was out of the lights and off for the night. He was dying to get out of his clothes for the first time in weeks, so he ran off to his dressing room and stripped down into boxers and a t-shirt. He sat in a beanbag, fanning himself in front of an electric fan for fifteen minutes before Carrie came looking for him.

"Aren't you just a hot piece of ass," she cheered, suggesting the sweat that was practically pouring off of him was anything but absolutely disgusting. He responded to her sarcasm with a groan. She continued, "I haven't seen you this exhausted in months. I'll get you some water." He heard her stilettos clink all the way down the linoleum hall until she was gone. She disappeared for a minute before returning with three cups of water and Ib, who was just trailing behind. Ib handed him a cup, forcing a smile.

"Are you alright?" Ib asked, brushing Garry's stringy bangs out of his eyes. He wiped his face with his forearm. Carrie downed her water.

"I'll be fine," he brushed her off. Ib sat down on the floor next to him. "I just wore too much is all."

"Be more careful next time," she scolded. She took a drink of water, glistening with sweat herself. "It's really hot up there." 

"How did your hustling go?"

"I gave two lap dances." She flashed him a smile. Carrie nodded with proud affirmation.

Under her breath, Garry heard Carrie mumble, "I'll leave you two lovebirds alone." Garry ignored the comment. She waved goodbye, and he waved back.

He redirected his attention back to Ib. "Did they go well, then?"

"Yeah. They were both college boys." She laughed shyly. Garry could hear Carrie's stilettos all the way down the hall. "I thought they would grab me."

Garry downed the water and wiped his mouth, warily surprised. "They didn't?"

"Nope."

Garry was pleased with the response. "Good. That's good. I'm glad." Ib nodded. "They don't like getting kicked out, so it doesn't happen often."

She was silent. He added, "Mary's regulars were terrifying."

Ib laughed. "I thought they were going to eat me." She stopped herself. "There was a nice, big guy there, though. His name was Billy."

"The bald guy?"

"Yeah, him." She sipped her water. "He told me he thought my outfit was cute."

Garry scowled inwardly. He couldn't get used to the nice guy facade from some customers, no matter how long he'd worked there. He bit his tongue. "That's nice, I suppose."

"He was a really nice guy. I thought he was scary at first." A pause. "I was kinda flattered, though."

"Do you have to leave soon?" He asked. She blinked. "Sorry, I..." Garry took a moment to think. "I didn't want you to lose track of time."

She checked the clock on the wall behind him. "Is that clock reading right?"

"It should be."

"Not for a while." She stood up and stretched. "I don't have class tomorrow. Will you be okay?"

"I think so."

"Alright. Do I look okay?"

Garry smiled up at her. "You look gorgeous."

She kicked at the rug bashfully. "Are you leaving soon?"

"Not for a while." Garry took a sip. "I can escort you out of the building after the show if you'd like."

She backed into the hallway. "That'd be great. I'll see you in a bit!" Garry waved. Ib ran off, heels clicking down the hallway.

* * *

Garry fell asleep after a few minutes without changing out of his grimy clothes and woke up to Ib nudging him awake, kneeling on the floor. He rubbed sleep out of his eyes.

"Hey, gorgeous." She was beaming. Garry had a feeling Carrie was beginning to rub off on her, but he was too tired to notice that she was teasing him.

"Right, right. Sorry." He stood up and leaned against the wall, blood rushing to his head. "I forgot to change."

"I can wait." She flopped down into another beanbag and pulled her phone from her purse. She had already changed out of her costume and was ready to leave. Garry was struck with guilt for falling asleep.

He changed into a clean shirt and pants, and struggled to buckle his belt; he couldn't shake how tired he was, probably due to how warm the room was, rendering him lethargic. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ib wearing a long coat, red skirt, and black leggings, and he wondered how she was wearing so many layers of clothing until he realized it was December and, in fact, not ninety degrees outside like it was in his dressing room.

He slipped into his black coat, significantly shorter than Ib's and in worse condition; the cuffs were frayed from wear. He pulled it up over his shoulders and grabbed his backpack from the corner. Ib was already standing before he could help her up. She didn't struggle to stand, even in heels, and he probably should've known better. After all, she was a dancer.

"Shall we?" He said, holding out his hand. She took it with a grin, and he found her hand was much smaller than his in comparison, even when hers was gloved.

He shut the door behind them and stepped into the hall. Some of the lights were already off in the hallway, and he could tell Carrie had probably already left; she had work in the morning. Mary was still there, surely, since she was the final act. Part of the staff was gone, given it was Monday and the show was mostly over anyway. He didn't care to bother Mary.

They passed some girls on the way out who were done for the night. They waved as Ib and Garry walked past, and one said to Ib, "You did great tonight! Have a good one." Ib turned pink as she exchanged goodbyes.

Garry opened the back door for Ib, and she stepped out. He followed her out, and the door closed. Out of the corner of his eye, Garry noticed a man standing a few feet away from them, leaning against the brick wall of the building. Strip clubs had a stereotype of being pretty shady, and the fact that it was night only made the notion worse, but he was still taken aback by the presence of someone else. He assumed he was either a pervert or a drug dealer. He didn't look at him, but, by instinct, he pulled Ib close to his side. The white cloud of her breath grew thicker.

"Ecstacy?" He said to them, a thick accent in his voice.

"We're fine," Garry said. Ib grabbed the sleeve of his coat. He pulled her against him, reminding her he was still there.

He heard Ib fumble with her keys in her purse, her hands numb from the cold even under her gloves. Her black Volkswagen honked obnoxiously as she unlocked it from a few feet away with two clicks of her keys.

Garry opened her door for her, and she slid into the front seat.

"I'll see you tomorrow," He said, stooped over so she could hear him. He pressed his hand against the roof of her car. "Can I give you my phone number?"

"Oh, sure." It was strange for him to not have her phone number already (Garry had the phone number of everyone at the club, just in case), but Ib was unaware. She shuffled through her purse until she had an old receipt and a pen in front of him. He smoothed the receipt out on his jeans and scribbled his number down. Out of the corner of his eye, Garry could tell the dealer hadn't moved.

"I'll text you," She amended, taking the receipt from him.

"Please." Garry hesitated. "I'll see you tomorrow. Be safe." He pressed a kiss to her cheek and shut her door. Her car started slowly. He walked back into the parking lot and unlocked his own car, listening to Ib drive off.

Once he had slid into the driver's seat, he shut the door and stared into space for a while, numb to the cold.

He started his car, forgetting he had left his stereo's volume up, and he darted for the volume dial at the first booming note with a start. Sighing, he reclined in the driver's seat. Having backed into his parking space, he drove out onto the gravel driveway.

Just as he merged onto the freeway, his phone buzzed from his bag.


	5. Night Three (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ib tries cigarettes, and some good ol' bonding ensues.

Garry was always pleasantly surprised when Carrie was at work before him, so when he found her sitting and waiting around for a visitor when he arrived, he was elated. He loved having company from the moment he arrived at work. She typically grabbed his papers for him when she was early, as well, knowing that her dressing room was his first stop when he got in. He took the schedule from her as he propped the door open with a chair.

It was Tuesday, and by the way he saw the schedule changing, he knew the schedule was going to be a slow change over the course of the week. He wasn't as shaken by the order as he had been on Monday, but that time around he was both relieved and concerned to find he would be announcing less.

He pointed towards a jumbled setup and moved the paper so Carrie could see. "Are all these people performing without choreography at the same time?"

She nodded, knowing she was going up with two others for three different songs. "I'm with them. Honestly, I would rather have the stage for myself."

"I knew you would." Garry set the schedule on her vanity counter and cracked his neck. Carrie cringed, but Garry failed to notice. "Do you have a cigarette?"

She turned her stool around to her vanity and sifted through her purse until she produced a cigarette in her hand. Garry took it, and Carrie pulled out a lighter and a cigarette for herself. She twirled it in her finger. Garry's response was automatic- to pat his pockets until he found which pocket held his lighter, but the third time around with no luck, Carrie stopped him. "Here, let me." She leaned forward and lit his cigarette.

The flame went out and he inhaled, and a plume of smoke followed Garry's warm voice. "Thanks."

She lit hers. "No problem. Did you two have fun last night?"

"What?"

"I left you and Ib in your dressing room."

He laughed nervously, ashes dancing to the floor from the lit end of his cigarette. "I guess, why?"

Carrie groaned. "I thought you would have an interesting story for me!"

"It wasn't too terribly exciting." Garry reached for an ashtray.

There was a murmur from outside. "Are you guys done talking about me?"

Carrie laughed dramatically. "Yes, we're done! Were you listening to us talk about you that entire time?" She flicked ash into a crystal ashtray she had positioned in her lap.

Ib stepped in and shut the door behind her. She dropped her drawstring bag in a corner and started to cough, waving away the smoke. "God, that's awful."

"We can put them out." Carrie assured her, but she made no effort to pull the cigarette away from her face. 

"No, it's just… strong." She choked out the last word and sputtered.

"Seriously. I can put it out." For a moment, she moved the cigarette away from her face. "Do you have asthma or something?"

"No, I don't." She shook her head violently and coughed once more. Garry grimaced. "I'm just not used to the smell."

"I would offer one to you, but…" Carrie began to lower her hand.

Ib considered. "Sure, I could try one."

"Ib!" Garry yelled, turning to Ib in his stool. He turned to Carrie for reassurance when Ib failed to respond appropriately with the turn of her head, but Carrie, as well, was unsympathetic. Garry scowled. "She doesn't need to smoke."

"Like hell." She leaned over and handed Ib a cigarette. She smiled and took it with enthusiasm. Carrie beckoned her forward. "C'mere so I can light that thing."

"Oh, God."

She lit the cigarette, and Ib pulled it away from her mouth immediately. "What do I do?" She asked, turning the cigarette in her hand. Garry sighed, flicking ash into the crystal ashtray.

"Just breathe in. Not too much."

"She's going to puke, Carrie!" Garry cried.

He watched her impending doom, pulling his cigarette out of his mouth. Ib leaned on him with her hand for support, sighing. "Can you catch my puke?"

"I will not."

She inspected the cigarette for a moment before putting it in her mouth and taking a cautious breath. She had hardly inhaled before she ripped it away suddenly, small plumes of smoke erupting from her mouth and nose with every cough.

Carrie took the cigarette and put it out quickly, taking a puff of her own. Garry was twitching to help despite his reluctance, more out of fear for her health than sympathy. His cries of distress countered his actions somewhat.

"Don't puke on me!" He could hear Carrie giggling. 

Garry heard Ib groan through her chokes, but she was smiling.

"I told you you didn't need that!" Garry rubbed circles into her back, his other hand holding his cigarette to his face to casually cover his embarrassed laughter. As fatherly as he desired himself to be, he was not in a good position to convincingly pull it off. "What were you thinking?!"

She rested her arms on his shoulders and cleared her throat. "Sorry."

"You're really not good at smoking," Carrie laughed.

"So I see," she panted. Carrie handed her a water bottle, and Ib gulped half of it down. "I can taste the lung cancer in my mouth."

"Well..." Carrie eyed her, amused.

They put their cigarettes out quickly after, and a break gave Ib time to catch her breath. After a moment, all the excitement had dissipated, and everyone was getting back to business. Garry didn't want to have to deal with his clothes just yet, so he avoided the idea of leaving, hanging around the two girls as they set up their work for themselves.

He spoke to them as they were getting ready, shedding clothes and putting on makeup. When Ib was ready to get changed, she hid behind the curtain, saying she was "still scared of getting changed in front of other people"; in turn, Garry offered to leave, but she shook her head: "No, I'll just hide." Garry was stunned into silence. Carrie laughed at him.

As the two of them finished their makeup, Mary arrived with an array of dresses in tow, stacked one by one on her arm. She didn't greet Carrie's sunny "hello", and Carrie was nothing less than irritated with her roommate the moment she walked past. Ib backed silently away from her vanity, grabbing her makeup she had yet to apply. Mary sat in her fluffy stool, throwing off her clothes.

"Um, hi, sunshine," Carrie barked.

"Sorry I'm late," Mary muttered, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

They all were quiet. Garry noticed Ib fidget behind her clothing rack, retreating to a dark corner where their lockers were.

"So, Mary, did you get some new dresses?" Ib asked from afar. Garry observed the exchange, knowing he was safe from engagement as long as he kept his distance.

Mary jumped with excitement, a contrast from the atmosphere. "I did!" She turned to Carrie in her stool, rubbing her foundation into her face. Little by little, her bangs began to fall into her eyes. "They're super cute! You can try them on if you want."

"Oh, no thanks," Ib declined. Garry could sense in her voice the strong regret over beginning a conversation. She stepped out sheepishly from the curtain then, dressed only in a lacy patterned bra and matching panties.

"Oh, you're already changed!" Mary chimed. Garry and Carrie exchanged stubborn glances. "On that note, could I try on a dress of yours, Ib?"

Garry flinched, and Ib followed suit at the request, a delay in realizing the question had been directed to her. "I… I suppose…" She said. A "no" in anyone else's mind, but Mary surely wouldn't pick up on it.

Mary continued on her makeup, and Ib stepped in a few times to help her. Garry could tell even from a few feet away that her hands were trembling.

By the time Ib was done with Mary, Carrie had moved to another chair and was kicking back, texting aggressively. Mary went straight for Ib's dresses when Ib backed away. She almost tripped over herself when she backed into the vanity to move herself out of Mary's way.

"This one's cute!" Mary exclaimed, pulling a dark red dress from the rack. It wasn't something Garry would have expected to see on stage; it covered too much, although it certainly was short. He knew the manager chose the outfits, so he wondered why he would incorporate a dress in with the rest of her wardrobe.

Ib murmured, "Oh, that's mine..." and Garry's suspicions were confirmed.

Mary slipped into the dress, ignoring Ib. She became aware of the zipper that ran up the back of the dress and backed into Ib. "Will you help me with this?" She asked, her hands bent awkwardly behind her back. She dropped her arms when Ib grabbed the zipper and began tugging on it. It zipped up nearly all the way until it was up to her shoulder blades, and it stopped there. From that point, it wasn't going anywhere.

Ib strained for a few seconds longer and tugged relentlessly at the zipper before the room heard a distinguishable ripping noise, and they all knew the zipper had torn away from the fabric. Garry had seen it coming clear as day, but he was still shocked at the noise, as if he had witnessed a car crash just then. He heard Ib sigh, "It ripped…", and she unzipped the ruined dress.

Mary was borderline-fuming. "You're flatter than me! Of course I didn't fit!" She writhed her way out of the torn dress, and Ib gave her room. She was mortified.

"Hey, now, don't be like that..." Garry retorted, standing from his chair and marching towards them. Mary flung the dress to the ground. Garry dropped to the floor and grabbed it. He stood and stepped around Mary to hand the dress to Ib. "It's an easy fix," He assured her, and she nodded, taking the dress with steady hands. "Yeah, I... I can fix it tomorrow. It's not a problem."

"Mary, stop bothering the poor girl!" Carrie interjected, pushing herself up from her chair. She dropped her phone in her seat. "You have other priorities besides destroying her clothing! What were you thinking?!" Garry was mildly entertained by the fact that Mary was being yelled at while still in the buff. She was red from her face to her shoulders.

"Ugh, fine." She stepped to the side, swinging open the wardrobe next to Ib's clothing rack. She looked over her choices. Carrie had already returned to occupying herself with her phone.

Garry was prepared to sit in the silence and return to his chair, but the printed schedule moving in his peripheral vision grabbed his attention. He turned to see Ib reading over the schedule herself. Something amused her, though Garry couldn't catch what it was before she was up and moving again, sitting herself down in front of the vanity mirror. She set the papers down in front of her.

She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and pulled open a drawer to find a hair clip for her bangs. It wasn't until she looked up at Garry and smirked that he realized he had been watching her for a few seconds too long.

"Want to help me?" She teased. He complied with a sigh to atone for staring and pulled her bangs up out of her eyes. She handed him a clip, and he pinned her hair back.

"Garry, it's already 8pm, you know," Carrie said.

"You're kidding," He gasped. Ib smiled in the mirror, staring at herself while she relaxed. He heard Mary's wardrobe squeak as she shut it.

"Nope." She stood at the mirror where Garry could see her, running her fingers through her hair. "I ought to start getting ready at least. I've had my fun." She pulled her stool out. "You'll need to start getting ready, yourself, cutie."

"I agree." Garry paused. "Cutie?"

Ib unzipped her makeup bag.

"Oh, hell," Carrie scoffed. "You're precious."

Mary laughed. "He's also _really_ gay."

Carrie's jaw clenched. Ib snorted. Carrie failed to notice. " _Pansexual_ , Mary."

"I need to get changed."

"Hurry back!" Carrie yelled, turning from the door as Garry shut it.

He hardly tried to hurry to avoid watching three girls apply makeup. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy their company- he adored Carrie and Ib- but watching women put on makeup wasn't his favorite past time.

He wasn't surprised to find his coworker had yet to arrive. He shoved his clothes into the back of his locker as he stripped himself of each article. It was oddly quiet in his dressing room since he was so far away from everyone else, so the change between going from a room with four people to a room of his own left him momentarily lonely.

He fumbled over his black tie as he always did; he found a tear in its underside and knew he couldn't immediately retire or fix it. He tucked it into the neck of his suit vest.

He drew out each step on his walk back to Mary's room, but with Lady and her friends just ahead, he couldn't purposely walk any slower without it seeming strange. There was a large group of then waiting around in the hallway, all dressed up and ready for work. They had been so quiet the whole time, he hadn't realized they had clocked in. They were all leaning against the walls opposite of each other, and they greeted Garry as he walked pass, some waving.

As he stepped into the room, he wasn't surprised to find all three of the girls completely absorbed in painting their faces. He was a little disheartened; he'd hoped they would have been finished in the time it had taken Garry to dress himself, but he saw Carrie was just moving onto her eyeshadow.

Garry sat in the view of their mirrors, but they were too focused to care. Already, Ib seemed to have made amends with Mary; they were sharing a mirror, neither exchanging a word. Garry could hear most of the conversation outside, though it was nothing interesting.

He kicked his feet against his stool for a moment and drummed against his legs, looking around the room as he waited.

Ib's tube of mascara clattered against the counter, and she pushed herself up from her seat. She turned in Garry's direction, grabbing a hair brush.

"How's this?" She asked. Her eyeliner was winged like it had been on her first day; her red eyeshadow blended into black over her eyeliner. The red in the hollows of her cheeks was perfect.

"Good."

She handed Garry the hair brush and turned. Realizing what she was doing, Garry hesitated. Somehow, it wasn't his strongest field, brushing hair, but he decided to play along; he couldn't do that much harm.

He took her hair in his hands. She had very healthy hair despite her ends, split from ironing (unlike his own, bleached to disrepair). Hers was thick, but not quite to the extent that Mary's coiled hair was. He hadn't a clue why Ib had asked him to brush her hair, since there were no tangles or knots. She was out of view of the mirror, but she seemed to relax by her posture.

"You look like you're about to fall asleep," Carrie said. She had stopped applying lipstick to comment.

"No one's played with my hair in years," Ib sighed, leaning her elbow on Garry's leg. He leaned back in his stool, and it creaked under his weight.

Carrie eyed Garry suspciously, and he was thrown off wondering what she was trying to tell him in one glance; he tried to quickly finish brushing Ib's hair. Ib was entirely still.

When he had finished, Garry held the brush in front of her. "Here you go." She looked down and stared for a moment before she took the brush.

Garry looked up at Mary, who he found had been staring only at herself in the mirror for quite some time.

"You sure are quiet," He said to her.

She scowled at Garry's reflection in the mirror. "I'm not!"

* * *

Garry led all three girls backstage before the show. Mary managed an enthusiastic attitude in front of all the staff that Garry saw right through. Carrie was bouncing on the balls of her feet while they sat around in the cramped room behind the curtains. When Garry shot her a look, she groaned melodramatically. Rarely was she ever visibly nervous for a show, but she seemed to be nervous again. She hopped in place whenever she was getting a gut feeling of anxiety; attacks were always common with her. She was not at all thrilled, at least.

Ib was working with some kind of footing all on her own, but instead of surveying her on it, Garry just let her at it. In the far corner by the door, Mary was talking boisterously with two girls who were just as excited as she. The light Mary allowed made everyone the smallest bit visible.

Garry could only somewhat hear Ib humming in time to her footwork across from him, though he couldn't tell what it was exactly that she was humming. Carrie was entirely lost in her nervous bouncing reverie; Garry didn't plan on breaking her train of thought (or lack thereof).

Ib turned towards Garry, still on her toes. "Do you know this song?"

He shook his head. "I can't say I do."

"No?" She hummed some more, hopping around with an entrancing grace. As the melody became familiar to him, she stopped humming and threw her balance. Carrie's daze snapped while Ib began to spin, faster and faster on her toes. Garry laughed and clapped for her, enveloped in the excitement. The three girls who had once been chatting with Mary kicked up a giddy air over her dancing, clapping enthusiastically.

Ib stopped herself and stepped to the side, and Carrie clapped for a moment. Her nerves were entirely gone; Garry and Carrie stood still, smiling identically.

Mary and the girls directed their attention back to their conversation within seconds. Ib bounded over to Garry.

"How did I do?" She asked. Carrie was delighted.

"You looked like you were having fun," Garry noted, a toothy grin plastered to his face.

"I was!" Ib swept her hair off her shoulder, beaming. "My mom made me do ballet when I was younger. It was dreadful when I was young, but now I suppose it's more handy than I ever thought it would be."

Garry leaned back, crossing his arms. "How long did you do ballet for?"

"I don't know. A long time. Six years, I think."

Garry was speechless. "W-why did you ever stop?!"

She shrugged and turned her face away. "In retrospect, I wasn't too bright. I probably would have quit sooner if I had been a more outspoken child. I got scholarship money for it once, before I knew what a scholarship was."

"Five minutes!" One of the girls shouted. Garry straightened his vest.

"You looked so pretty spinning like that!" Carrie interjected, a bounce in her voice. Ib giggled bashfully.

"It's nothing."

"I got dizzy just looking at you." Carrie crossed her arms.

Ib turned to Garry. "So, you're pansexual?"

Garry groaned. "Really?"

"I guess. What's up with that, then?"

"I just like dudes."

"But you're pansexual."

"Okay, girls, too."

Carrie was whispering something, and when Ib coyly kicked her to get her to stop, Carrie gasped teasingly and kicked her back.

"You're not going to start asking me about my sex life, are you?"

"No! Gross." Ib and Carrie continued to play heel tennis. "Unless you care to share."

"That would take hours," Carrie groaned jokingly, uttering profanities when Ib snagged Carrie's stiletto heel in hers. Ib grabbed absently at Carrie's hand while she struggled, and Carrie began to fight against her.

"You don't really need to share that, Carrie," Garry suggested.

"Fine, I guess you're a virgin." Carrie strained, pushing against Ib. Ib was delighted in her new game.

"Oh, for God's sake!"

"At  _least_  five dudes, am I right?" Carrie teased.

"Carrie, are we really doing this?!"

She grunted when she knew Ib had the upper hand. There was an all-knowing glint in her eyes. "Six?"

"Carrie!" He was mortified. 

"Ib," she groaned, still fighting, "I'll have you know Garry has had at least seven guys-"

Garry screeched. Carrie and Ib doubled over laughing, forgetting their fight, and he was deathly embarrassed over the infraction of his voice.

"How many girls, then?" Ib murmured.

Carrie laughed audaciously. "Two."

"Carrie, I will report you for sexual harassment."

Carrie screamed, but she was smiling. "We work in a strip club, you asshole! Don't pull that 'harassment' crap on me!" Ib was muffling her laughter with the back of her hand.

"Thanks, Carrie," Garry moped, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Well, I wasn't lying!" He wasn't going to argue that.

Ib butted in: "Do you have a preference, then?"

Garry shook his head.

Mary and two other girls began to return to their dressing rooms, leaving behind Lady. Ib spoke first. "Should we be getting ready?"

"Standing here is enough for now," Carrie replied. Ib nodded in assumed agreement.

From backstage, they could hear a group of college boys and older men speaking over the lounge music. Almost on cue, Carrie and Ib sighed. Garry chuckled. Dance music was faint in the background, and Garry tapped his foot to it for just a moment before it bored him to keep rhythm. Ib watched the floor, but in the vacant dark they could see Carrie looking through a crack in the curtain.

"They don't sound familiar," she said in a hushed voice.

"They don't," Garry agreed. Carrie strode towards the other side of the curtain. She and Lady greeted each other as Carrie approached the far side of the room.

Ib sat in a chair beside Garry. It creaked slightly under her. "I'm tired."

Realizing she was trying to make small talk with him, Garry replied, "Did you not sleep well?"

"No, I did." She and Garry watched Carrie waste time. He pitied her when he realized she was still bouncing on her toes, standing alone in the sliver of yellow light that leaked past the curtain.

"Have you been eating well?"

"If a strict diet of ramen means eating well."

"You _are_ pretty thin..."

"You sound like my mother." Her voice began to fade away, and she stuttered over an apology. Garry cut her off gently.

"I get that a lot," he interjected. "I almost forgot you were a college kid."

"I can still afford better food..." She looked a little embarrassed about her behavior, but she continued, "Do I not look the part?"

Garry gave it a moment of thought. "You look like a high-schooler."

Ib scoffed. "I get that a lot."


	6. Night Three (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ib struggles in her working environment, resulting in the guilt of many of her coworkers.

Garry learned over many years of experience and working with Carrie that he, as an announcer, was not always welcome on the floor. His presence, according to the dancers and his subconscious, cut off the customers' "train of thought". To this, there were always exceptions: new kids, suspicious characters, and other strange things. Ib could only be considered new for a few days, if Garry even cared to linger around her business for that long. Most regulars knew she was new, so Garry's presence was only partially welcome. Carrie, on the other hand, was not one of these uninvited guests.

For the first five or six minutes of the first hour, the stage was hers and whoever else's.

Garry remembered this as he stepped out onto the stage, Carrie just across from him. Announcing Carrie was easy enough, since everyone knew her and she had the audacity to strut with confidence without introduction. She was funny without saying a word; she had skill and an ability to be emotive. She lost that air when she performed, though.

Ib had a childlike, naive air. Most people really liked her personality and the naive trope in general. She was a natural pro, too, although she could still play the part with innocence that others enjoyed.

Mary teased and played her audiences. In short, she always seemed to be having fun. She was different from Ib in the sense that Ib had her own personal aura of innocence, but Mary was left to her own devices.

Garry let Carrie take over right after he introduced the show. She was fine, alone with her applause and cheering. Ib, as well as Lady and another girl, were waiting backstage. Ib sat alone while the others spoke. She didn't seem to be lonely; if anything, she was amused. Garry joined her side shortly. She adjusted her legs and looked up at him.

"Have fun?" She asked.

"A blast," He joked sarcastically.

"I don't feel like working tonight."

"Me either. Are you that tired?"

"Yeah. I enjoy talking to you, though. Much better than being on stage." She glanced around the room absently. "Not as much work."

He was somewhat flattered, but he wondered if flattery had been her intention. "I could say the same."

She smirked. "Two days ago, I was terrified of you."

"Huh?"

"I'm not good at talking to boys."

"You're a stripper."

She sighed, opening up a bit. "That I am, but dirty talking is different from small talk like this. But you're good at it."

"Small talk?"

"Yes. I was never very good at it."

"You seem to be just fine." His brows furrowed. "You were _scared_ of me?"

She leaned on one arm of her chair, covering her mouth with her hand. "You're just... really tall, okay?" She giggle nervously, but Garry's appearance didn't reassure her when she looked up at him. "You were so scary..."

Garry was used to being called tall, but not scary. He scratched the back of his neck. "I didn't realize..."

She straightened up abruptly, trying to correct herself. "No, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it like that..."

"Do I have a scary face, too?"

She laughed at herself, and he could tell even in the dark that Ib was red in the face. "No, no, you... don't. You're..." She held what she was thinking on her tongue, "... you have a cute face! It might be because you're older..." She sat staring into the dark before she violently blinked out of her daze at the realization of what she had said. "No, no, I meant you're older! You're older than me!"

He stooped beside her and laughed. "I'm only twenty-nine!" He barked. She laughed with him, and the guilt seemed to fade from her laughter for a moment.

"That's ten years older than me, though!"

"At least I have a cute face in my weary, old age..."

She elbowed him, grabbing at his sleeve. but he laughed and grabbed his sides.

"I'm sorry," She apologized, a pained smile still painted on her face, "I'll pay you back for that somehow."

* * *

He returned to the podium just as Carrie exited. He read off his paper before he spoke again: "Returning for our second act tonight..." Ib stepped out, the spotlight not yet hitting her. He could hear her heels click softly, which suited her in a bizarre way. The lights, alluring soft pinks and snow whites, bounced off her bare skin.

She stood like a movie star in one heated, loud, choreographed scene, stepping one foot perfectly in front of the other. Garry didn't want to speak for her; she could have just spoken for herself, kneeling in front of her already-regular college boys with negligent abandon. Her dark hair just brushed against her skin, but she only looked so much fairer under white light.

Garry stopped just as she passed the halfway-mark onto the thrust stage, no hand on her hip. Her hips swished just slightly, how she wanted it, her arms at her sides but swinging with her momentum. She stepped in front of the crowd, _her_ crowd, onto her knees, the heels of her hands, hair falling around her face. Garry watched her, a cold sweat washing over him, and he realized she did not understand her audience like he did, after so many years of experience.

She was already showing most everything she had. She accentuated every curve, every feature. She could dirty talk. She was utilizing it. She was right in knowing that this field was different from her small talks. Garry felt her, her audience, himself move ever so slowly, wanting to look away.

One of her regulars reached out and grabbed her wrist. Garry went hot and remembered the lights and the stuffy room.

He couldn't leave then; it was his job to look nice and to intervene in an emergency and to watch. But, somehow, this was different.

There was a lapse in movement as a man in the crowd laid his hand on Ib's breast, and even, if only for a moment, Ib froze with them. It was too loud as it was, but there was yelling across from Garry. They knew the rule: no grabbing the dancers on stage. Tips were different. Dollar bills were different. They were expected when she asked.

And Ib continued as if nothing had happened.

* * *

There was another twenty minutes for Garry. Once all was said and done, He shed his vest behind the curtain and draped it behind a chair. It had been a short shift. He ran his fingers through his loose hair, and all five of the performers, chatting and pulling on their clingy form-fitting clothing, were completely oblivious; he was supposed to be there, anyway.

One of the girls opened the door for him, but he could see the sympathy on her face when the light hit her.

Carrie was waiting outside her room, shifting her balance uncomfortably, but it was too loud in the hallway to hear anyone beyond the door. Garry didn't care to in the first place. Carrie was visibly upset, tugging on her synthetic hair. She only saw Garry when he was right in front of her. She read his face for just a second and took his hand, dragging him behind her and away from the dressing room door; once she was out of earshot, she turned to him.

"She's fine," She said, her head and voice low. Garry had assumed so. She watched her hands. "I feel bad."

"That's the job." Club rules were disobeyed week after week no matter how many people knew about them, but it was in the job description.

Carrie considered the idea. "It's always shitty that first time, though."

Garry felt no place to speak, for he had never been put in the same position; he could only imagine. "We can only hope she gets used to it."

"If it's worth the money, she'll stay." He remembered suddenly Carrie's testy attitude. He never agreed with her tendency to silently investigate people on her own, but he agreed nonetheless, as he usually did.

Her platinum blonde hair was tinted in blue, and it shined in the light. Her pearl necklace tinkled with every motion.

"How was she doing?"

She sighed, pouting a bit. "She kept telling me, y'know, she could go back out and work on the floor, but-"

That was all he wanted to hear. "Okay." 

"I have to go back on."

"Is someone taking over her spot?"

"Mary didn't mind." Carrie pulled on a loose thread and ripped it. "I think it was a way of paying her back for the dress." Garry didn't see it worth commenting on.

Carrie juggled the torn thread in her hands before she shook it out of her fingers onto the linoleum floor. She looked into space, and as Garry waited for her to finish her train of thought, she stepped past him. "Is your shift over?"

"Yes."

She began to walk back to her room. Garry followed. "Will you stay with her?" She asked.

"If she wants me to," he offered.

She paused again before turning to him. "I have to work soon, so I can't watch her forever." Carrie knocked on her dressing room door, with no response. The door whined as she opened it. Garry stepped out of view as Carrie peeked inside.

"Can Garry come in?"

Garry didn't hear Ib's reply, but Carrie held open the door for him and stepped out of his way. He whispered a "thanks", and she nodded, ducking out of the doorway.

Ib had dressed back into her street clothes. She was sitting at Carrie's vanity, wiping off makeup with pads she had pulled out of a carton. The spotlights on Carrie's mirror were still on, but someone had shut Ib's off.

Garry pulled a folding chair up and sat down next to her. She acknowledged him with a nod.

She straightened up suddenly, and under the cover of her bangs, she wiped her eyes with a rag. She had taken off most of her eye makeup; in contrast, she looked startlingly exhausted.

After a moment of examining herself, she put her head in her hands and groaned.

"I could've continued working, but..."

Garry placed a hand on Ib's back. "I think Carrie was just worried about you."

She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hands. He realized that resting his hand on her back was probably not comforting in the least considering the circumstances, and he leaned back in his chair, pulling away.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"Yeah, thanks."

"You know this isn't the last time it'll happen."

One of her hands came down onto the counter with a resounding smack. "I came into this job fully aware of its consequences," she sighed. "I really want to keep working."

"Maybe you should just take the night off, Ib."

She slouched, gesturing wildly. "But if I do, then-"

The dressing room door flew open, and Ib's inner turmoil radiated off of her as her and Garry's attention shot to the door.

Mary ran in with Rose in tow; Rose was visibly upset (more so for being dragged along by Mary), but Mary's expression was one of sheer shock.

She was panting furiously, and her hair was disheveled. "Are you alright, Ib?!" She roared.

"I'm fine." Ib was stunned.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Mary was breathless, and she leaned on Ib's knees to catch her breath. Garry could see the tears nearly erupting from her eyes as she looked up at Ib. "I ran back after my shift to check on you! I was so worried!"

Rose stood silently to the side, only vaguely concerned.

"I'm fine, really..."

"I'm so sorry that happened, Ib!" Mary cried into Ib's chest, wrapping her arms around her waist. "Go home for the night and rest. You deserve it!"

"Really, it's okay."

Mary's head darted up, leaving a trail of runny mascara down her cheek. "Garry, can you help Ib get her things together?"

"Mary, I don't think..."

"It's whatever," Ib caved. "I'll go home."

Garry and Mary turned to Ib, mouths agape. The room fell silent, but Ib didn't meet their gaze.

"If you want me to."

"That's the spirit!" Mary cheered, clapping her hands together. Garry watched as Rose shyly disappeared from the doorway to escape the excitement. "Take a night off! You deserve it."

"Thank you, Mary." With faint color returning to her cheeks, Ib nodded to Mary with a small smile.

Mary clapped once and turned to Garry. "Now that that's all settled, I've got to run."

"Sorry to make you take my time slot," Ib mentioned.

Mary groaned, "Oh, Ib! Don't apologize for that!" She fell dolefully to Ib, squatting to meet her face. "It's no trouble! I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

Ib nodded again, averting her gaze. Garry observed the whole exchange from a few feet away.

The door shut behind Mary, and Ib's silence lingered overhead.

"Are you alright?" Garry could hardly move.

"Yeah." Ib stood up, smoothing out the back of her pleated skirt. She threw her bag over her shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

With such a visible look of anguish painted on her face, Garry was struck with a pang of guilt. He wrung his hands together, ridding his palms of the residue left behind from standing under hot light, and he stood. "Please don't feel bad about leaving, Ib."

She turned her attention to him only for a moment, but her face was sullen.

Garry smiled pitifully. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. "They care about you a lot."

Ib remained in a daze for a moment, turning over the idea in her mind. She bit her lip before nodding. "You're right." She said. "And Mary will make more tonight if she takes my time slot."

Garry laughed, but his laughter faded as he found Ib wasn't reacting as eagerly. Ib stared into him, and Garry gulped hard. She turned away from him with a wave of her hand. "See you later."

The color of Garry's face faded to a pallor. "See you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the fanfic up until this chapter and for leaving kudos/comments! It means a lot that you would take time to do both. :^)
> 
> i bet you did not miss these notes even tho i managed to go a few chapters without them but if u want the strippers you get the whole package which also includes me being a fucking turd all throughout


	7. Night Five (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garry discovers Ib's daily routine before work. Garry and Ib talk. They talk with Carrie about the upcoming events at the cabaret.

Ib's fifth night on the job was a Thursday, and it rolled around before anyone saw it coming.

That Thursday, Garry was free from any deadlines or work he had outside of the club. Thursdays always felt like a break, despite having to work at Rosie's. It was an odd day to take a break, but Garry didn't mind.

He worked from home, auctioning things online in his spare time and illustrating most of the day. But deadlines had already drawn to a close, and for the entire Thursday afternoon he had to waste, he was bored out of his mind.

With the sun still high overhead, he drove down the freeway, freely dodging the traffic coming in from the city just as the office workers and businessmen were pouring back into the smaller town he had left behind for the night. On the bordering edge of both counties was Rosie's, its neon lights sputtering on to invite its nightly guests.

Garry turned into the back alley, from pavement to gravel. The car rattled over the change in traction. He parked his car at the back entrance alongside the rear brick wall of the building. The car shut off, and he looped his keyring on his finger.

His car door squeaked open and slammed shut. The rubble turned under his boots, and he found parked under the trees, among a couple other cars, Ib's black VW.

Garry let the back door's weight close itself while he clocked in by the rear entrance. The hall lights overhead had all been turned on, but it was deathly quiet save for the ever-present air conditioning (that never really seemed to cool the building). Under the wide gap of Carrie's dressing room door, the lights hadn't been turned on.

Garry didn't bother with going in to check; the lack of light was indication enough. The faint piano score from beyond the front stage hit him, and he followed the sound.

He swung open the door to the lobby, manually closing the door behind him by turning the doorknob to prevent it from clicking.

_"Take my hand / Take my whole life, too / 'Cause I can't help falling in love with you."_

Ib was on the thrust stage, glistening with what was either lotion or sweat. Garry knew the song perfectly well, but dancing around a pole was not the first thing that came to mind when he thought of Elvis.

_"Like a river flows / Surely to the sea / Darling so we go / Some things were meant to be."_

As Ib turned towards him, she went pale at the realization that he was standing there. Shocked at the presence of someone else, she dashed for the front edge of the thrust stage and fell to her knees, pausing the stereo. 

_"Take my hand / Take my whole li-"_

She stood up alertly and turned, pulling her hair behind her ear with one delicate swipe. She donned just a sports bra and spandex, typical practice gear. Both were black, uncharacteristic for Ib. Standing at attention, Garry could tell she was wearing lotion, but the sweat was beginning to wash it off.

"Did I interrupt something?" He joked, stepping closer to the table nearest to him.

"No, not at all!" A shot of adrenaline always made Ib much more emotive. She hopped off the thrust stage, grabbing the bottle of water she had left on the edge of the platform.

"Does the manager know you're here?"

"Yes." She was still panting from exertion.

Garry glanced around the room. "Did you get here early just to train yourself...?"

Ib shifted her weight and looked around with him. "Yeah, I've been doing it since I started working here, but I've missed a couple days." Indeed, there was a newer hint of muscle on her that Garry had hardly noticed. Again, she met his gaze. "Why are you here so early?"

"Boredom."

Ib smirked. "So you came to work?"

Garry fidgeted. "I don't think that hard about these things."

She laughed, playing with the cap of her water bottle. "I guess not. Want me to keep you engaged?"

Garry laughed for a moment with her, almost scoffing. "You really don't have to."

"It's alright." She waved him off with the flick of her wrist. "I'm already tired, anyway."

Garry grinned and took the first step towards the back door. Ib followed lazily behind.

The hall was still deserted, so they could take their time in the narrow corridor. "Don't you have a job or something?" Ib asked him, striding smoothly behind once she'd caught a new wind.

"I work from home, so I go at my own pace." Garry opened the door for the two of them, and Ib stepped ahead.

"What do you do for a living, then?" She dropped the bottle on a beanbag towards the back of the room and fell into the beanbag next to it.

"Ah, I illustrate," he began. He shut the door behind him and pulled up a stool. "I paint, too. Sometimes I do other things."

Ib straightened up. "What do you paint?"

"Portraits, mostly..." Garry started to turn various shades of red. "Sometimes just figures."

"Would you paint me?"

Garry stumbled over his words. "I mean... I make a living off of it, so-"

"Are you suggesting I wouldn't pay you?" Ib crossed her legs.

"No!" Garry bit his tongue. "It's just-"

Ib smirked, giggling teasingly. "I'll pay you."

Garry was scarlet. "I'll think about it."

There was a momentary pause. Garry pulled out a stool and sat.

"Don't you have classes right now?"

Ib's smile faded for only a moment before it returned. "Maybe."

"Ib, that's irresponsible!" Garry gasped.

Ib only laughed. "It'll be fine."

"You're an adult! You need to attend your classes!" The shock on Ib's face at his reaction to her carelessness stopped Garry in his tracks. "Getting here isn't your first priority."

"I guess you're right." Ib stood and moved to the wardrobe behind her; she swung it open and retrieved her dress, torn earlier in the week by Mary when she had tried to dress herself in it.

"What will you tell your parents if you start failing your classes?"

She grabbed the sewing kit at the bottom of the wardrobe before shutting its doors. "I won't fail my classes." She sat back down and draped the dress over her knees. The sewing kit popped open with a click. "Were you implying I would have to tell my parents about my gig here?"

Garry crossed his arms. "Well--"

"They don't know that I'm here." Ib paused to thread a needle, unable to talk and do so at the same time. After the thread was through, she continued. "I'll give them another excuse if it happens." Her voice softened. She pulled herself out of the dent she'd made for herself in the beanbag and got on her knees to spread out the torn dress in her lap, inspecting its tears.

"Don't you think using a sewing machine would be easier?"

"Probably, but I don't want to borrow one." She turned the dress inside-out and straightened it across her lap again. "I won't buy myself one, either."

Garry lit a cigarette. "You have more than enough to buy one."

She put down the needle. "It's just..." She sighed. "You get- you get stingy with all that money. You don't want to give it to anyone." She ran a hand through her hair, and her bangs shifted awkwardly out of place. "My mom, she- I don't know what my parents will say if they- if they visit and I have all these things. I haven't borrowed any money from them; I keep telling them I can support myself, but they have no idea."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine." She crossed her legs again. "That's just how it is."

"Don't you ever worry about being expelled?"

Ib scratched at the carpet idly. "I haven't really thought about it."

Garry sighed. His cigarette was already burning to nothing. He smothered it in Carrie's ashtray. "I'll paint you."

Ib's train of thought broke and redirected itself to him. "What? Really?"

"Sure." He smiled, and Ib returned the gesture.

There was a knock at the dressing room door, and both Garry and Ib turned to it. Garry chimed, "Come in," and the door opened.

The manager stood in the threshold, waving a small stack of papers in his hand. He was already visibly exerted from walking from the parking lot to the dressing room, and sweat stained his clothes. Garry and Ib grinned at him as a greeting, and he smiled back.

Still trying to find his composure, he began, "These are for you, Garry," waving the papers at him for emphasis. The boss stepped inside with the papers outstretched to Garry, and he casually took them, still sitting.

The boss turned to Ib, and she straightened to attention. "Did you get a good workout in, sweetheart?"

Her face lit up and she nodded in reply. "I did!"

He seemed to perk up again. "Wonderful!" Garry read the schedules to distract himself from the conversation.

"Thank you for letting me use the stage!"

"Of course, sweetie. You can use it whenever you'd like." He turned to Garry. Garry was deep into the papers; the boss nodded wordlessly, understanding. "I'll leave you two to your work."

Ib watched his back as he left and shut the door.

"You're performing with Mary?" Garry interjected, flicking the paper.

"I am?"

He held the paper out to Ib's view. "Apparently so." Ib scanned the paper for a moment before huffing.

"Huh." Looking over the dress again, Ib had lost the motivation to continue and pushed the dress and needle to the side. "How many times will I be on after that?"

Garry looked over the paper again. "Well... the act with Mary is the last one of the night, and we close at one." He pulled his bangs out of his face and squinted. "You only have one other act tonight, it looks like. You're fourth in line."

Ib stood, stretching her arms above her head. Garry gave her a moment. "I guess I'll be feeling old man boners on my inner thigh for the rest of the night."

Garry cringed. Ib smirked when she noticed.

"At least you're not the one doing it. Besides, more tips."

* * *

It was only after ten minutes of willpower to work and another half hour of hard sewing labor that Ib was able to finish repairing the dress. It didn't look the same as it once had, but it had been salvaged to the best of her ability.

Another hour passed before the third person arrived. Carrie had curled her shoulder-length hair, of which she had dyed that morning. It was a pale pink, a color she had done before. She looked good in any color, but pink was, as she had reminded Garry countless times, her particular favorite.

"It would be such a waste to wear a wig tonight," she huffed, sitting down on a stool beside Garry.

"You don't have to wear a wig," Garry added.

Carrie sighed. "I suppose not." She paused. "Does it look okay?"

"You look incredible, Carrie," he reassured her with a grin.

"Aww, Garry, you're the best!" She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tightly. Garry endured it. She was quickly distracted. "Where's the schedule?"

Garry reached out for it, restricted somewhat by Carrie's grip. He managed to grab it and hand it to her. She released him and took the stapled papers.

It took her a moment of looking over them, Ib and Garry anticipating her voice all the while, until she spoke again.

"Only three times on tonight, it looks like." She set the papers down on the counter behind her and began unbuttoning her blouse. Ib was still in her sports bra and spandex, so she stood from the beanbag and turned to the clothes rack to get herself dressed.

"Getting dressed so soon?" Garry asked; the question had been directed to Carrie.

"Why not?" Carrie unbuttoned her cuffs before pulling her blouse down. Underneath was a white tank top. "I have makeup to put on."

"You still have a couple hours."

Carrie dropped the tank top on the floor. Ib had managed to peel her bra off, but she was facing the other way to stay out of Garry's view.

"I don't see why I should wait when I could just get it over with," she continued.

"Well, alright."

There was silence as the two girls wormed their way out of their clothes. In the corner, Ib taped pasties down. When she had finished doing so, she turned. Garry hadn't noticed.

"What are you wearing today, Carrie?" He inquired. Carrie appreciated the question, sliding her bra off of her shoulders.

"Not heels tonight. Going barefoot sounds like a much better idea. Maybe I'll wear some beads."

"Sounds good."

Through the whole exchange, Garry hadn't glanced down. To Ib, it was a huge shock, but nevertheless amusing, whether or not Garry was consciously making constant eye-contact.

Carrie retrieved her supply of pasties from a drawer behind her. She knew the room so well that she didn't even turn around to open the drawer. Ib made her way around the beanbags and stools to Mary's vanity. Although it had been almost a week since Ib had begun working there, she was still required to share a mirror.

"Oh, God," Carrie gasped. Ib and Garry turned to her.

"What's wrong?" Garry asked.

"Tomorrow's fetish night."

"What's the problem?" Ib interrupted. There was a brief expression of shock on her face, but Garry quickly jumped in.

"She  _hates_  fetish night," He answered back, leaning over as he emphasized the word "hate". "Which reminds me, what will you be doing?"

"I always tell Mr. White that bondage is my best suit, but Mary always gets it." Carrie rolled her eyes; it was the first display of direct annoyance by Carrie towards Mary that Ib had seen. "I always get bunny ears."

"You make a good bunny."

"Thanks, Garry." It was almost sarcastic in tone, but something about it rubbed off as genuine. She turned to Ib. "How about you, Ib? What do you want to do?"

"Spanking."

It was so instant of an answer that both Garry and Carrie were instantly taken aback.

"You didn't waste any time with that one," Carrie smirked. Ib realized the fact suddenly and went scarlet. Garry tried not to laugh.

"It just seemed obvious to me… I was thinking of school."

"No, I understand what you mean," Carrie reassured her. Ib seemed to relax when she thought Carrie was on her side. "It's perfect for you."

"Is it?"

"Yeah, of course!" Carrie was almost excited about the idea. "I mean, you are in school right now, after all."

Ib nodded, but even Garry could tell she was still painfully embarrassed.


	8. Night Five (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary and Ib have a quick talk. Garry and Ib make a deal with each other.

It took an hour for Mary to arrive, and she panicked under the stress of getting dressed in under thirty minutes, as she always did. After a brief discussion, it was confirmed that, yes, Mary had the responsibility of bondage fetishes on Friday and, yes, Carrie was very upset.

It took a few minutes to pull everyone together to leave the room before Mary stopped all three of her co-workers.

She looked at Garry from across the room. "Hey, can you and Carrie go ahead? Pretty please?" Mary clapped her hands together as if praying. "I need to talk to Ib for a second."

The idea took a moment for Garry to register. "Alright." He mumbled at Carrie to follow, and they left without another word.

Once the two of them were out of earshot, Mary spoke, eagerly grabbing Ib's arms. "Do you like Garry?"

Ib went wide-eyed. "Huh?"

Mary's grip loosened. "You know… would you date him? Or is he just a friend to you?"

"I haven't thought about that..."

Mary looked suddenly sad, and Ib's brows knitted together. Mary pried some more. "Would you, though? You two would look so good together."

"Mary, we have to go-"

_"Answer the question!"_

Ib flinched. Mary's expression twisted into a wry smile. "Would you?"

"It's against my contract."

"Oh, contract-shmontract!" She laughed, waving her hand. "My daddy owns this place. He can't touch you."

Ib had a bad taste in her mouth.

"Besides, we're friends right?" Mary tilted her head.

Ib hesitated. "Of course."

"Alright!" Mary cheered, clapping her hands for grating applause. "Keep this conversation between you and me, okay?"

"Of course." Ib didn't dare mention the fact Garry was a full ten years older. She didn't need the backlash again, after all.

* * *

Ib's outfit that night was much less extravagant than usual; she donned a mini-skirt that couldn't have been more than six inches from waistband to hem, as well as a small bikini top, covering only what it needed to. Mary and Ib's outfits were relatively similar, save from their differing patterns and colors. It was generally assumed that they had coordinated their outfits, which was true.

Garry was the temporary disc jockey that night, as he always was, running the computerized jukebox playlist from behind the scenes. All the while, Carrie would come backstage at frequent intervals to keep him company and bother him, which thoroughly entertained him throughout the repetitive boredom of his shift.

It was clear to him, though, as he watched from behind the curtain that Ib was not her usual self. There was a way she moved with a certain lethargy that was almost alarmingly obvious, but the rest of the crowd was so absorbed that anyone hardly noticed. To them, she was her usual self.

Mary, on the other hand, was fantastic. As usual.

It was a shorter night than usual; Thursdays were not the most popular nights for strip clubs, after all. Only until 12am rolled around did the last of the four of them, fully dressed, re-enter the main hub of activity- Carrie and Mary's dressing room. Garry had worked the first and last hours of the night, with room in between to watch his friends work. Mary had already left by the time Garry was up for his last shift, so she was absent from the room. Her absence went, frankly, largely ignored.

Garry entered just as Carrie was leaving, and Carrie made sure he knew.

"I was just on my way out," she informed him, bringing him into a hug. Her cotton scarf was wrapped tight around her neck, and her purse hung beside her waist. "I'll see you tomorrow, Gare-bear." Her voice was softer next to his ear, though she was much shorter than him and could just barely reach the side of his face. Ib was the same.

Only after Carrie had closed the door behind her did Garry fully register Ib's presence at her typical spot in front of the mirror.

She had wiped her makeup nearly clean off already. She was just as pretty with it than she was without, but she only wore it for work. In comparison, she looked more tired, but most people without makeup seemed that way. She had changed already into her sheer blouse and pink tulle skirt.

"How's it going with you?" Garry chimed in.

"Fine," she replied plainly. It was very obvious she was focused on getting her job done as quickly as possible. Garry didn't take much offense.

When she had finished, Ib threw the rags away. "Sorry about that," she apologized, suddenly self-aware. Garry stood up, and Ib did the same, smoothing out the back of her skirt and adjusting the waist. She brushed stray hair out of her face.

"I'll walk you out, then."

"Can I ask you something first?"

The statement caught Garry off-guard, but he obliged. "Alright."

Abruptly, Ib became very hesitant before she spoke up. "I was wondering if you could paint me tomorrow, but… I wasn't sure if, maybe, that was too soon."

It didn't take Garry very long to turn the idea in his mind. "I'm not doing anything tomorrow, so… sure."

"Would it be alright to stay over tonight, or… is that pushing my boundaries?"

That was more of a shock, but Garry didn't want to let it show. His reply took longer to formulate, but he managed. "No, that's fine with me. If you really want to."

A faint color returned to her face; Garry hadn't realized it ever left until the pink in Ib's cheeks glowed brighter.

"Want me to follow you back?"

"Yeah, sure." Somehow, he seemed almost happy about the idea. Although still recovering from the embarrassment of asking, Ib was pleased with herself.

She took Garry's hand and followed him out.

* * *

Ib parked her car alongside Garry's, just in front of the apartment building adjacent of his. She rolled down her window as Garry approached, having already left his car to escort Ib up to his apartment.

"It's okay that I'm parking here, right?" She asked cautiously.

"Of course."

With a smile, Ib rolled her window back up and unlocked her door. The ignition died. She stepped out, locking her own car with the click of a button.

"Alright," she affirmed, nodding to Garry. He took the gesture as confirmation to walk ahead, and he did so.

Garry struggled with his key ring before finding the key to his apartment. He wasn't used to his new set since he'd changed the lock a week ago, but he managed.

His apartment was as ordinary as any other, Ib found as Garry swung the door open and let Ib take his lead. White drywall, white counters, white carpet. It had more furniture than hers, which she expected. It was a very warm, welcoming space, despite it being very dark.

Garry turned on the light in the foyer, but even with it the den and surrounding dining room and kitchenette were nearly pitch-black. Ib pried her ballerina flats off of her heel and dropped them on the tile in the entryway.

Her feet met carpet as she entered the living room. Garry was still struggling to unlace his boots in the threshold. Ib heard him grunt and turned, struggling not to giggle at the sight of him attempting to yank the shoes off of his feet.

Once he had them off, he sighed, out of breath even from the simple act of taking his shoes off. "Home sweet home," he breathed, just loud enough for Ib to hear from a few yards away. Garry couldn't help but think that he  _really_  needed new shoes, but he tried to dismiss the thought.

"I like your apartment," Ib commented, plopping herself down on the couch. "It's quaint. You don't smoke in here, do you?"

"No, I don't," He replied. He put his hands on his hips, glancing around the room. "Only on the balcony." Ib watched him from the comfort of his couch.

"Seems kinda big for just you, though." There was no denying it was definitely more than a space for one person to live on his own.

"Yeah, well…"

"Don't you have, I don't know, a girlfriend or something?"

Garry only laughed. It wasn't an outrageous thought, but he had every right to laugh at the idea. "I work at a strip club. Not a lot of people appreciate that."

It became suddenly so obvious to Ib that working at Rosie's was, in fact, a social stigma and not something most people did. "Is that it?"

"You'd be surprised." Garry walked across the room and sat himself down on the other end of the couch. He pulled his feet up and made himself comfortable, more of an invitation to Ib than to allow himself to relax. Ib hesitated before doing the same in the hopes that she wouldn't rub off as rude.

"I don't know, I just figured someone would be able to get over it." Had people always been that shallow? Ib considered that she was just getting too used to the idea.

The whole thought of not being dateable due to working at a strip club was thought-provoking to Garry, but somehow enjoyable. "Again, you'd be surprised."

_"Would you date him? Or is he just a friend to you?"_

Ib couldn't wrap her mind around it. He was really nice and alarmingly pretty at his age (almost relatively androgynous), but the idea was foreign. She couldn't imagine. "Just a friend" fit the definition much better.

"Oh, where can I sleep?" Ib asked. She wasn't necessarily tired just yet; she had worked late enough to earn herself a burst of fatigue-induced energy.

"Oh!" There was a partition separating a hallway at the front of the room from the den. Garry pointed to it, and Ib's eyes followed. "There's a room on the far left. You can sleep there. It should be clean." He was almost doubtful about the tidiness of the room, and it made Ib think.

"Is it your room?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Shouldn't you sleep there?" Ib's fingertips brushed her bottom lip.

Garry rubbed his neck out of habit. "No, I can sleep here. You're my guest, after all…" Ib's face tightened with frustration, but Garry interrupted her before she could argue. "I insist."

Ib almost retaliated, but she realized she had probably caused him enough trouble, after all. "Alright," she sighed, crossing her arms. "Thank you."

She stood from the couch and made her way to the back room.

"Good night," Garry called from the living room. Ib turned just in time to see him flash her a smile before she walked out of his sight and into his room.


	9. Night Six (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning starts with Ib and Garry intending to work. They do the opposite.

It was only 7 a.m. when Ib was woken up to the sound of a clatter outside her door. Waking up was disorienting enough with unidentified noise beyond her door before she realized the door and bedroom were not hers. It came to her quickly that it was Garry’s room. The pillows had already begun to smell like her perfume, though.

A few minutes passed before she was able to pull herself up from the sheets. It was dark in the room, but morning light was just coming in through the window as the sun was rising. The digital clock on the nightstand next to the blinded window read “7:12 A.M.” in its blocky green letters against black.

She wondered, then, was Garry cooking breakfast?

Her skirt had been wrinkled from tossing and turning in her sleep. She had worn it to bed, which, in hindsight, hadn't been the best idea. Her undershirt fit comfortably enough, and it had kept her bra from showing through her blouse the night before.

Pulling herself out of bed, a scent hit her, and she realized it was, in fact, Garry cooking in the kitchenette. She tried not to laugh as she pulled her skirt down mid-thigh and smoothed it out the best she could.

The old door creaked open on its hinges, and Garry heard it over the hissing sound of him pouring mixed pancake batter into a pan.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He asked. He was still in the clothes he had worked in the night before.

“No,” Ib replied, rubbing sleep from her eyes once more. Garry knew it was probably a lie, but he took the answer.

Ib’s stomach growled. She could feel hunger pains coming on, and it smelled good in the room.

“I have a pancake already done if you want it.” Garry gestured to a plate to his left; sure enough, a pancake was sitting on a plate just as he had said.

Had Garry really heard her stomach growl? Ib guessed it had been a coincidence as she reached for the plate and took the food for herself. Garry smiled at her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, bowing her head. Garry nodded, poking at the half-cooked pancake in front of him with his spatula.

“There’s syrup in the cabinet next to the fridge,” Garry said, peeling the pancake from the pan. He flipped it over. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, that’s alright,” she shook her head, opening the cabinet above her. She plucked a bottle of maple syrup from an array of other cans and boxes of food.

“The forks are under you.”

“Oh, okay.” She pulled open the drawer she had leaned against. She grabbed herself a metal fork, something she hadn’t seen in a while; she was all too used to her plastic store-bought cutlery.

She pulled a chair out and sat down at the dining table, popping open the cap to the syrup bottle sitting in front of her. Behind her, she could hear batter sizzling and Garry scratching at the pan with a spatula.

It felt somehow so natural to be moving around his apartment and eating his food, though she had only hours before walked in and slept. The apartment wasn’t all that warm and welcoming, but Ib had already grown used to it. It would be a working environment later in the day so Garry could paint her. She ate quickly.

Garry slid into the seat in front of Ib, a plate in his hands. He had two pancakes stacked up on his plate. Ib watched him sit down, looking up from her food. With her cheeks stuffed and syrup nearly dripping out of the corner of her mouth, Garry couldn’t help but laugh.

“Do you want any more?” He asked playfully.

Ib stabbed at the last bite of her breakfast, gulping down what she had chewed. “No, I’m fine.”

Garry bit his tongue, realizing the offence she’d taken. “Are you sure? I can make more.”

“I'll stick with one.” She finished her meal and stood, taking the plate with her.

Garry’s eyes followed her as she walked to the sink. The faucet began running water, and Garry grabbed absently at the open syrup bottle in front of him.

* * *

Garry’s hall closet was surprisingly clean, but it went so far back that it still took him ages to find a portrait canvas to work on that was the right size. He shuffled through clothes and boxes of art supplies until, after a minute of digging, he pulled out a decent white canvas.

Ib had been wondering how a man his age had kept his apartment so tidy, but she didn't ask about it. Garry inspected the canvas, plucking dirt and dust from its surface. “This’ll be fine,” he murmured to himself, closing the closet door with his foot.

He led Ib into the back room of the apartment, a room Ib had yet to see. With the canvas in one hand, he opened the door. The smell of acrylics and wood hit Ib hard, but Garry had grown so used to the smell that he simply ignored it.

A tripod easel was set up towards the back of the room, the floor around it lined by a clear plastic tarp. Both the easel and the tarp were splattered in places with paint, but, for the most part, they were clean. There were tupperware containers and cups of pens and brushes scattered around the floor, some labeled with marker or tape.

In front of the easel stood a wooden chair, an apron draped across its back. A stool stood just behind the empty easel frame.

“Have you done this before?” Ib asked. She stepped closer to the easel, and the plastic tarp crumpled under her bare feet. 

“Painting someone from life? A few times, yes.” Garry positioned the canvas. He turned around and bent down, grabbing a few jars of acrylic paint from an array. “I don’t do it very often, though.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have enough free time or enough models.” He moved the paint jars next to the foot of his chair.

“I hope I’m not taking up your working time…” Ib hesitated in front of the plush stool.

He shook his head, still collecting his medium. “No, you’re not. I wouldn't have agreed to it if you were.” He dusted off his hands and gestured to the other seat. “You can sit down.”

“Oh, okay.” She tucked her wrinkled skirt under her lap and sat. The stool was cushioned, but she knew her back would start to hurt after a while of sitting there, that was for sure.

Under the legs of an easel was another plastic box full of black wooden brushes, well-cleaned, but the wood was smudged with paint.

“Do you want me to paint you in what you’re wearing?” Garry asked her, sliding the box out from under the easel. “You wore a blouse yesterday.”

“Would you prefer me wearing a blouse?”

“It’s your decision.”

Ib raked her fingers through her bangs, still stringy. She realized the condition of her hair when she felt it. “I can, but I think I should take a shower before this. I haven’t even looked in the mirror, really.”

“Oh! Okay.”

“Is that alright?” Was asking to shower in his bathroom imposing? Ib wasn't sure.

“Of course!" He held out his hands, gesturing for her to go. "There are towels under the sink.”

Ib stood. “It’s really okay?”

“Absolutely!” Her cautiousness was almost amusing to him. He tied his paint-stained apron behind his neck, smiling at her from under his fallen bangs.

“Okay, I’ll be back.” She pushed herself up and turned, walking out of the room.

Ib tried to find her sense of direction as she walked out into the den. She guessed the bathroom was next to his bedroom, so she made her way across the floor. Opening the door revealed linoleum counters and birch wood. Definitely the bathroom, she confirmed.

The tile was cold under her feet, and she cringed at the feeling under her as she walked in. She flipped the light switch, illuminating the bathroom. It was clean, not something she had expected to see. It wasn't as cramped as her bathroom at home, but Garry certainly kept his in order, much like the rest of his apartment. She didn't dwell on it for very long.

She opened the bottom cabinets to find a stack of white towels. She brushed off the gnawing question of wondering why everything was white. She grabbed one bath towel and set it on the edge of his sink.

She stripped and folded the clothes on the counter, finding it was already freezing while she pulled the last of her clothes off. Goosebumps began to rise on her skin.

* * *

A hot shower was heavenly, especially in December. The water stung her back, and the feeling was almost relieving.

Watching her feet, she let the water wash over her, taking with it the sweat and grime of last night's work. It felt good to shampoo the grease out of her hair and clear her pores in the heat.

She longed to stay in, hesitantly shutting off the water. Left behind was the steamy mirrors and wet tub, and the cold that hit her as she stepped out was unbearable.

It would take her a while to dry her hair, she knew. She wondered what Garry was doing while he waited. She scrubbed the water out of her hair with the towel she had left for herself, bent over awkwardly to keep the water off of her skin.

She dressed herself into what she had been wearing that morning and opened the bathroom door again. The cold rushed in from the main room, and Ib shivered. The heat escaped much quicker than it had come.

She searched under the counter for a hair dryer, but struggled. Garry's hair was long, but maybe not long enough for him to feel the need to use a hair dryer. Ib worried for a moment that he wouldn't have one in the first place before she found one, pressed up against the back of the cabinet and hidden by an array of products.

The dryer whirred as she combed her fingers through her hair, the hot wind taking her hair with it. It took a few minutes before her hair could dry all the way through; Her hair had always been thick, so drying it was a chore.

She peeked out into the adjoining hall and den. Garry wasn't in sight. He must've stayed in his workshop the whole time, she thought.

Ib returned to the bedroom. Her blouse was laying there on the ground where she had left it. It was slightly wrinkled, but not by much. She slid into it.

Garry was in his chair cleaning brushes when Ib returned. An eerie quiet surrounded the room until the tarp on the floor crunched under Ib's feet, and Garry's daze snapped.

"Did I take long?" Ib asked.

"No, not at all." Garry set the thin brush down on the easel. "You ready?"

Ib nodded. A nervous smile began to form on her face.

She took a seat on the cushioned stool, shifting her weight to make herself comfortable. She prepared herself by pulling her hair out of her face and straightening her blouse.

"Wait... here." Garry rose and walked over to her. He took a lock of her hair in his hands and brought it along her cheek. He adjusted her bangs.

Garry backed away experimentally, hovering to see how she looked from afar.

"Turn your head this way." He jabbed his thumb to her left, and she turned just slightly.

"Lift your head a little." When she did, he beamed. "Perfect!" Garry clapped his hands and backed away to his seat. He took a block of charcoal and moved his hand up to the canvas.

Ib’s eyes darted around the room. In the first place, she had no idea where to look. Garry seemed to notice; he stretched out his left hand and snapped his fingers. Ib looked at him, almost flinching.

“Look down for me,” he said. He had held his hand out low, and her eyes followed. “There you go.”

Instruction was all she needed, and she tried not to smile as Garry eagerly sketched the outline of Ib’s face.

* * *

“Truth or dare?”

Garry hesitated. “Umm…” Ib’s eyes sparkled, seemingly egging him on. Under the pressure, he gave. “Fine! Dare.”

She grinned mischievously. “Drink cold soup out of a can.”

“Gross! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You wanted a dare!” Ib was giggling furiously.

“I don’t even have a can of soup!”

It had taken thirty minutes for the two of them to move from the workshop to the living room floor. It had been Ib’s idea to play truth or dare, something she hadn’t done in years. Neither particularly wanted to quit after they started.

“Lick the bottom of your shoe.”

“You’re so gross,” Garry groaned, but he stood up from the floor, walking over to the foyer. Ib could only cackle maniacally as he trudged his way across the room.

“Lick it! Lick it!” She chanted, shaking her fists.

Garry grabbed the boot by the tongue.

“Don’t be a wimp! Put your whole tongue over it!”

Cringing, he looked at the bottom of the boot. It was clean, although scuffed in areas. He located the cleanest spot and took a quick lick.

“Ew!” Ib screamed, still laughing at him and clapping excitedly.

“You dared me to do it!” Garry retaliated, dropping the boot on the tile.

“I know, it’s just so gross!” She cried, beaming from ear to ear.

From the foyer, he cried, "You're such a sadist!" Garry returned to the middle of the den, sitting down with his legs crossed on the carpet. “Okay, your turn. Truth or dare?”

“I can’t trust you with a dare after that. Truth.”

"God, that's so unfair." He'd wanted to get back at her, but Ib wouldn't have it. He went on with the assumption that delving into her private life might be just as uncomfortable. “What was your first high school relationship like?”

Ib turned away. “I didn’t have one.”

“Are you serious?” Garry’s mouth hung open, and Ib timidly shook her head. The look on Garry’s face was the only thing Ib needed to keep her entertained, but she tried not to smile at him.

“Yeah. No one asked me out, so I never dated.” Ib shrugged, pouting. “Nobody was worth the trouble.”

“Wow.”

Garry was completely absorbed, so Ib changed the topic seamlessly. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth. I don’t want another dare like yours.”

“Boring!” She booed. “What do you think about me?”

“What do I think about you?” Garry repeated, taking in the question. He scratched the back of his neck, thinking about his answers. “Well… you’re sweet, I guess…”

“I guess,” Ib murmured, teasing him inwardly.

“You have a great smile.” Ib covered her mouth when she felt herself starting to smile again, but she couldn't help but roll her eyes as she turned away. Garry noticed and scoffed. “You’re cute, too.”

“Aw, geez.” Ib’s face glowed.

“Truth or dare?” Garry continued.

“Truth.”

“Are you excited for fetish night?”

“A little bit, I guess.” Ib smirked and shrugged again, tilting her head back as she watched him. “Truth or dare?”

“Um…”

“I have a great dare,” She begged, taking Garry's hands in hers.

“Fine!” He gave in. “Give me your ‘great’ dare, then.”

“Date me.”


	10. Night Six (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fetish night rolls around. Garry struggles through it all.

Watching Mary struggle to fit into thigh high boots was nothing short of entertaining. It was a delight to Garry, certainly, but he tried his best not to let it show.

But it was Ib's presence in the room that had Garry nearly sweating. She wormed her way into a knife-pleated, plaid miniskirt, facing the wall. It seemed that, even when she was turned away, she could read Garry's mind. For once, Garry was _terrified_  of her instead of the other way around.

There wasn't much Garry could say about the idea of a date with Ib besides the truth that laid in the back of his mind: the idea of a date was eliciting feelings he never could have expected, especially when the date consisted of him and Ib.

And there she was, her cute, nearly-naked little bottom slipping its way into a tiny skirt. It felt like she was rubbing it in. Garry's head was throbbing.

_Think about geometry. Old men. Anything but her._

Where did this come from?! She had never been the idea of a romantic partner to Garry, so why was it happening now? Because she had spoken up about a date? Now, her getting changed in front of him was so much more than a part of his job.

"Garry, zip me up," Mary commanded, her back turned. On reflex, Garry zipped up the skin-tight garment. It was mint green and hugged every curve.  _This_ was routine.  _This_ was the job he could handle. Mary walked away without another word to finish her business.

"That looks  _so_ uncomfortable," Carrie groaned, pulling up the sweetheart line of her bunny suit. She turned to Garry in a similar fashion. "Is my bunny tail drooping?" She pawed at it with her hand.

"Fine as always."

"Thank God. I haven't worn this suit in ages." She brushed dirt off the curved back of the strapless suit, admiring herself in the mirror. Confirming that everything looked alright, she sat down, teasing her hair in front of the mirror.

_"Date you?" He scoffed, but she was all too serious to be joking. "Ib, you know that's never going to work out."_

_"Maybe not, but I dared you."_

_"_ And  _it's against my job contract to-"_

_"It's just a date." She smiled. "No strings attached."_

_"Fine."_

Mary snapped her fingers at him. "Hey, we go on soon."

"Yeah, I know."

She was nearly pouting. "You two have been very quiet."

The whole room focused its attention on Mary. Garry couldn't think of a way to respond.

"Sorry," Ib interrupted, and Garry's entire body went rigid. "I was getting ready, so…" Her voice trailed off.

It really was a terrible excuse, but it was enough for Mary; she sat down beside Garry and crossed her arms, her boots squeaking against each other as she crossed her legs.

* * *

For months, every act had the same time slot and the same routine, so nothing surprised Garry when Friday rolled around. Problem was, Ib hadn't performed on fetish night yet. She had been squeezed into one long slot, which was how it was for everyone else.

Garry had the last half of the night, a shift he loathed but could pull himself through. And Ib was one of the last acts. Second to last.

The night seemed to trudge on while he waited with Ib until, halfway through the night, Garry left Ib and Carrie in their dressing room; Mary was still waiting for her time slot to arrive, and she planned on staying out on the floor for her "fans" right after.

Garry met her backstage, where she was standing, tugging at her clothes. Out of her peripheral vision, Mary could see him coming closer.

"I hate this," she whined, adjusting the front of the suit. There was a long, vertical slit running from her chest to her stomach, where a stretch of her stomach was visible. The outline of her breasts peeked out from the top.

"Didn't you sign up for it?" Garry scoffed.

Mary was suddenly malicious. "It's better than that stupid bunny shit. No one likes that crap."

"I think it's kinda cute."

Mary rolled her eyes. "You sound like my old man." She was obviously in a sour mood, but Garry couldn't fathom why. He left her alone.

The announcer before Garry, his coworker, returned from the stage. On cue, Garry and Mary stepped forward. Mary prepped herself and made her way to the opposite side of the curtain. She watched Garry as he stepped out to the low-sitting podium, and she followed.

"Are you enjoying the show?" Garry chimed into his mic.

The crowd cheered.

"Oh, but we've hardly begun! You see, Miss Mary's been  _very_ naughty lately…" The words were sour as they rolled off his tongue, but Mary played along like always.

That was all Garry had to say before Mary was on her way and the men in the crowd were hooting and hollering. He ducked behind the black curtain.

A few girls were waiting in their chairs, only acquaintances of Garry. He couldn't name any of them, but he had never been good with names in the first place. In the meantime, Garry went on inspecting the playlist looping on the PA system.

* * *

The end of the night drew on until it hurt for Garry to stand, but with no place to sit, he sat on the floor behind the curtain between shifts. He wasn't really  _allowed_ to sit, but no one would care.

And then Ib entered through the backstage door, wearing a private school uniform cut way too short and way too low. A striped tie dangled from her neck, and pink lace peeked out from under the waist-length, gray blazer she wore. She had white legwarmers on, baggy at the ankles. The loafers she wore were black and polished.

Her hips wagged as she walked towards him. Her skirt had hardly enough length to swish.

"Tired?" She joked at the sight of him sitting on the dirty floor. He stood as she said it, although the pain lingered still in the balls of his feet.

"God, yes," He groaned, steadying himself against the wall.

"Me too." She pulled up a legwarmer that had started to roll down her calf.

The two of them were quiet for a moment. Neither had time to break the silence before the audience behind the curtain began applauding. Garry, already standing, dashed out onto the stage. Ib's loafers thumped against the floor as she ran over to her side of the stage, waiting for the word from Garry to enter onto the stage.

"What a doll," Garry purred. "Unfortunately, ladies and gentlemen, our night is nearly coming to an end..." the crowd groaned, "... but--! we have two more lovely ladies for you tonight." The cheering returned. "Our lovely little Ib needs to be punished..."

Garry's presence on the stage was replaced by Ib. Garry returned to the dark of the black box.

"You really have a talent for announcing," a girl behind him hummed. Garry turned to find the last performer of the night, a girl dressed as a cat. A blue collar, topped with a round bell, hung from her neck. Garry couldn't tell who it was through the wig and makeup.

"Thank you. Your whiskers look fantastic."

They had been applied with liquid latex, surely, but the makeup had been smoothed so well they appeared to be part of her skin. She twisted at the whiskers and managed to muster a small "thanks."

There was a small crack in the curtain where Garry had exited. Outside, he could just barely see Ib.

She had her back turned towards the audience, a wooden ruler in her hand. Garry hadn't noticed it before. It took a few moments of connecting the dots to figure out she had hidden the ruler in the legwarmer she had adjusted before going on.

She dragged the ruler up her thigh, lifting up the hem of the plaid skirt with its straight edge until a sliver of her pink, ruffled panties peeked out. It didn't take long for the crowd to get worked up.

Gently, Ib patted the back of her upper thigh a few times before she brought the ruler down hard with a resounding smack. The audience went crazy. Ib had hardly flinched, but it was enough for everyone to notice.

She unlooped her tie and lazily swung it around at her side a few times before throwing it into the crowd. A frat boy caught it and tied it around his neck. Ib winked at him.

She got down on her knees, holding the wooden ruler against the back of her upper thigh with both hands. She sat on her feet and the ruler.

Ever so slowly, she began to unbutton the blazer. Her crowd realized what she was doing and shouted with the growing tension as each button revealed just the smallest bit of flesh.

Garry felt himself wanting to look away again. Nothing bad was particularly happening. She was doing her job, but something made him feel sick.

This was not poetry to him anymore. This was a hundred eyes on her naked skin, and those included his gray ones, pink and sunken from fatigue. As he watched the crowd, he couldn't help but think about how disgusting it must be for them to be fawning over this girl, a ninteen-year-old college student dressed up as a preteen.

The truth dawned on him that he was one of them now.

He pulled his attention away from her, watching the barely-visible floor beneath him. The cat girl to his right hadn't noticed him.

One smack. Another. Garry watched again. Ib's blazer laid on the stage behind her. She stood tall in the light in a lacy pink bra, miniskirt, and footwear, a clean red mark emblazoned on the underside of her ass.

It was over. She plucked her blazer up from the ground. Garry nearly stumbled onto the stage, but Ib was at the mic before him.

"Hold on to that tie for me, love," she cooed. And then she was off.

_"The truth is, I've been thinking about the things Mary has said to me," Ib began. "I really thought about it."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_Ib sighed, pushing words from her throat. "I don't want to say that I love you, because I haven't known you long enough to say 'you mean the world to me' to your face."_

_Garry was silent._

_"I love the idea of you and me. There, I said it."_

* * *

Ib was sitting in her beanbag, wearing her street clothes: a blouse and skirt. She had her phone in her hand and was tapping away as Garry entered, exhausted from work and red in the face. He had dressed himself after the show, but Ib waited in the dressing room for him to return. He came to find the room was empty; both Mary and Carrie had left for the night.

"Hey," Garry greeted Ib, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

She dropped her phone hurriedly. "Hi," she beamed. "How'd I do?"

"Uh, good," he affirmed. Ib met the comment with rosy cheeks.

"God, your whole face is red." The comment didn't help the fact, and Garry could feel the blush spread to his chest. "What's wrong?"

"It's just really hot out there," he lied through his teeth, loosening the collar of his shirt. "You really did great tonight." He stepped forward and pulled her up from the seat. She was still inches shorter than him even with her heels on. His hands shook. If someone had told him he was feeling pure terror, he wouldn't have doubted it.

"Thanks," she said, smoothing out the back of her skirt. She tugged up her thigh high socks. "Shall we?"

She was so full of energy, despite having performed with so much effort. She was not herself. "Let's go," Garry agreed, still red in the face.

Ib had never been an excitable or loud person, but then and there, she seemed to be. There wasn't much that could be said about Ib other than the fact that, under a facade of enthusiasm, a nervousness lingered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how have i gotten to ten chapters. i cant even get my math homework done
> 
> btw, thanks for all the really awesome stuff you guys have said to me on tumblr. it makes me very emotional


	11. Night Six (Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date begins. And ends.

The crash of a picture frame on Garry’s nightstand resounded through the room, but neither Ib nor Garry acknowledged the sound. Nothing would break the two of them apart, especially since Garry already had his tongue down her throat.

Garry had his hand on the back of her neck, pulling her close, and through the chaos he wondered how Ib had managed to break a picture frame. On the other hand, she was frenzied, excited to have him laying on his back in front of her. The thought of the two of them regretting any of it wasn’t even an idea.

The bed sunk and whined under the weight of Ib pressing her hand and knees into the comforter and mattress. Her hair hung around her face, nearly brushing the bed and Garry's shoulders. She pulled it all to one side, around her neck. The corners of Garry’s mouth were smeared with red lipstick. Ib giggled at the sight.

“What is it?”

“I got lipstick on you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Ib could feel every inch of her pressed against Garry when she brought her lips to his, his clumsy hands gripping the thin silhouette of her waist. A tremor racked through Ib's own hands as she pulled her fingers through his hair, looping his gelled curls through her fingers.

They became aware of one another’s motive; Ib unbuttoned the collar of her blouse, her fingers flitting as she struggled to hold onto each button.

It felt like an eternity before she had undone the first button, and Garry intervened. His fingers brushed against her palms. “Let me.”

A few seconds had passed before the line of buttons came undone one by one. Garry pulled the fabric aside like a curtain, revealing Ib’s pale skin and the lacy pink bra she had worn that night. He nearly called the ensemble of matching underwear “cute”, but it felt like too much.

Ib bit her lip, trying to hold her breath impatiently as his eyes traced the outline of her bra. Everything had moved so quickly. She wondered if her blush was spreading to her chest as it often did, but watching everything unfold took her mind off of it in a matter of moments.

Garry slid the blouse off her shoulders, and the fabric fell to her wrists, held at her side. A heavy silence filled the room before Garry reached over to Ib’s left and began to unbutton the cuffs of her blouse.

He threw the garment to the floor and redirected his attention on her, placing his hands on her hips.

“You sure you want to do this?” He asked.

A small smile stretched across Ib’s face, and she leaned forward, brushing aside his bangs to kiss his forehead. “I’m sure.”

The words pulled a sigh out of Garry, his head resting against her chest. “You know the top drawer of the nightstand?”

Ib pulled away. “What about it?”

“There are condoms in there.”

“Oh, right.” Just the word startled her. Ib leaned over to her right, her knee digging further into the mattress as she reached for the drawer. She found what she had expected when she opened it: a pile of wrapped condoms, sprawled around the bottom of the drawer as if they were the only reason the drawer existed.

She handed one to Garry, and he placed it next to him on the bed. He leaned back on his hands, sighing again. Ib sat on his lap, her fingers entwined in front of her.

“We’re really doing this…” Garry murmured, staring into space.

Ib watched him, nearly laughing. “Yeah.” She breathed hard still.

In one movement, she took the hem of his shirt in her hands and pulled it up; Garry lifted his arms and assisted her in pulling it over his head. Garry grabbed it first and tossed it onto the floor with Ib’s blouse.

Ib heard the clink of his belt buckle, and her world suddenly came to a stop.

_Oh, my god. I’m gonna see his dick._

He unlooped the belt and threw it away. It was just two layers of clothing between Ib and him. He had just begun unbuttoning his jeans before Ib took his face in her hands and brought her lips to his. Garry inhaled sharply, the scent of Ib’s perfume flooding his nose.

There was an obvious bulge in his pants.

Ib pulled away from his face, hands still holding his jawline. Garry was still in the process of pulling off his jeans, but he was suddenly so enthusiastic to do so. They had grown increasingly uncomfortable.

And then his jeans joined the pile of clothes on the floor, and he was sitting in front of her with black boxer briefs and a hard-on. The task of getting naked was still an obstacle they had to overcome.

Ib unhooked her bra and pulled, discarding it promptly on the floor. She stood and began to pull her panties down from under her skirt to her ankles. Her thigh highs remained on. Garry’s socks had been left in the foyer.

She wondered what her mom would have said if she had caught them in the act.

Ib yanked down the waistband of Garry’s briefs. It was a feeling that was once all too familiar to Garry, but in Ib’s presence, it was somehow so foreign. As it became colder, Garry wanted to hide.

To Ib, he was impressive. Like, definitely above average.

The process was slowing down; Ib grabbed the wrapped condom Garry had thrown onto the bed and opened it. The act itself caused a lapse in excitement. It was beginning to become clear to Ib what she was getting herself into. It wouldn’t stop her, though. Was he five inches? Six? She couldn’t tell.

The condom she pulled out of the wrapper was ribbed. The wrapper joined everything else that had been thrown to the floor.

Garry rolled it on. It was a chore for Ib to just sit and watch, but the sight of him was _incredible._

She brought her arms around his neck, into an embrace. Garry brought her closer and closer until only sweat separated them. The tension melted away.

With his arms around her waist, he let her fall onto her back, her hair balled into his fist.

She was _so_ beautiful.

Garry brought his hand up her thigh to the hem of Ib’s loose skirt. He hooked the waistband with his thumb and slid his hand under the fabric. He was met with warm, damp skin and an eagerness that shot through him.

She was nearly trembling, small in his arms and suddenly so fragile. She pulled her face away from his, her eyes glassy and almost lidded. She tugged on his hair, and his head turned, exposing his neck. Ib pulled the skin to her face and kissed him, once, twice, three times, as if she'd done it a thousand times before. Garry pressed against her, receiving willingly.

It wasn’t foreign anymore. None of it was. Her lips on his skin, his hand on her legs suddenly felt so normal, like they'd known each other for years. He ran a finger along what her panties had hidden and felt her tense up beneath him. She grabbed onto his arm with one hand. The kisses she left were softer, gentler than before.

They realized the silence as he slid a finger into her, and Ib seemed to relax into him, her body melting. It was an entirely new feeling, but she was ready to get used to it.

She could feel a swirling, dizzying feeling in her stomach. She wrapped her leg around his, her toes curling. Her head pounded.

Garry’s grip on her hair was loose, kinder than before and much more bearable. He was petting her head, running his fingers through the length of her hair. The feeling was somehow reassuring, but it felt amazing to her.

The feeling of his finger inside her disappeared. His other hand rested on the back of her head, unmoving.

“Hey.”

Ib could hear the hoarseness in Garry’s voice. Her breath caught in her throat. “What?”

They hadn’t looked at each other. “You still want to do this?”

Garry’s heartbeat hammered in his chest. Ib’s voice was brittle, but confident: “Yes.”

The confidence left when she felt him against her, and a raw feeling of shock shot up her spine. She squirmed, his hips digging into her.

Garry groaned, his hands holding her waist. A sigh escaped from his lips. He grabbed Ib and pushed himself up on his elbows, then his hands.

Ib's fingers remained entangled in Garry's hair, a space between them opening. One hand slid up the length of his chest to his shoulder. All the moving felt almost uncomfortable to Ib, but she slowly eased into him.

Garry thrusted into her without a warning, and she breathed hard against him. Her back arched.

Her voice caught in her throat. All she could think was that she was so thankful she had grabbed a ribbed condom. The space between them grew until she was writhing on top of Garry, watching his body move against her.

Ib was trying to keep up, despite her slight athleticism; she was petite and already gleaming with sweat, but sweat had hardly broken the surface of Garry's skin.

Eagerly, Ib brought him closer, squeezing him tightly to her. He pushed against her weight again. A shiver racked through Ib’s body, and she dug her nails into his back.

Their lips came together again, and they nearly bumped noses when Ib pulled Garry’s face to hers. The warmth of his breath still lingered, but he tasted of nicotine and ash. He had always smelled of it, but knowing it was the taste of _him_ in _her_ mouth made the sense entirely different.

Her body convulsed against him, pulling her away from his face. Her back arched again, exposing her shoulders as her hair fell forward, and Garry silently thanked God that he'd ever met her.

* * *

Ib’s breathing had steadied to a slow rhythm, her back against the mattress. The soft glow of Garry’s bedside lamp set a warm mood.

The sweat on her skin had pooled mostly into the mattress and dried on her skin, leaving her hair tangled and messy. The color in her face remained, tinting her body in various shades. Her bangs stood up and drooped in the oddest places.

The cold of a damp towel made her shiver, but Garry’s hand on her stomach was calming enough. She laid there on the comforter, fading in and out of sleep while Garry cleaned what little was on her legs.

“What a date,” Ib breathed, smiling weakly. Garry only chuckled.

He stood and closed the towel, folding it over. He tossed it aside like they had done with everything else.

“Done?” Ib asked, still recovering.

“Yep.” Garry took her hands and pulled her up into a sitting position. “Did you want me to keep going?”

“No,” she crooned, pearly smile shielded by her hands.

Garry flicked his wrist, pointing to the other side of the bed. “Roll over to the other side.”

“Why can’t you sleep on the other side?” Ib whined, kicking her feet.

“I’m going to smoke and everything is on the night table.”

Ib sat up idly and crawled her naked self across the bed, groaning all the while. Ib wagged her butt teasingly in his face as she moved on her knees.

Smirking, Garry leaned over the edge of the bed and smacked her butt. She yelped and fell onto her pillow, giggling wildly.

“That hurt!” She cried, rolling over on her side to turn away from him.

“ _Sorry,_ ” he sighed, hopping into bed.

She rolled back, watching him as he slid under the sheets.

Garry reached over to the table to his left and grabbed his ashtray first, then his cigarettes. He pulled one from the carton and closed it, setting the carton on the nightstand.

“Why do you smoke?” Ib had propped herself up on her elbows while Garry wasn’t looking.

“I don’t know.” He lit the cigarette. “I’ve tried to stop a few times before.”

"I thought you said you didn't smoke inside."

"I lied."

Ib rested a hand on Garry’s leg, covered by the comforter. She dropped her head onto the pillow. “Why didn’t you quit?”

Garry released a breath of smoke. “I just couldn’t do it.” He grabbed the ashtray and put it in his lap, flicking ash off of the burning end of his cigarette. He intertwined his fingers with Ib’s.

“You gave up?” She looked up at him from the pillow, and Garry looked down at her. He took the cigarette from his mouth and smothered it.

“Yeah, I did.”

Ib flashed him a toothy smile as he set the ashtray and unfinished cigarette to the side. He wormed his way further under the blanket, scooping up Ib in his arms. Ib squealed, wrapping his arms around his neck in return.

Smoke still lingered on his breath, but Ib kissed him gently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i do not know what a penis is (btw thanks for the help on skype Newt YOU'RE A STAR!!!)
> 
> and thanks for the fanart you guys have sent me on tumblr and skype!!! it's so awesome!!! why


	12. Night Seven (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning antics, internal struggles.

No sun came in through a window in Garry’s bedroom when dawn approached. He simply woke up on his own, finding Ib laying in his arms. She breathed rhythmically, still fast asleep. She was lovely from every angle, and this was no exception.

Carefully, Garry swept her bangs aside and kissed her forehead. His thumb ran across the length of her cheek. She was flushed from the heat.

Ib’s face tightened as she woke, wiping the sleep out of her eyes. She let out a yawn, hardly covering her face. She gave into fatigue and collapsed into the pillow again, greeting the morning with a groan.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Garry murmured, pulling her out of the pillow and into his arms.

Ib groaned again, smothered by Garry. He could feel her smile against his skin. “Mm, good morning…” she replied, her voice croaky. Her breath was warm. “I’m still sleepy.”

“Did you not sleep well?” Garry asked, loosening his grip when he looked down at her.

“I’m still trying to wake up.”

Garry sighed with her and rested his head against hers. “Are you hungry?”

_“Starved.”_

“We didn’t eat last night, did we?”

Ib’s smile returned again when she recalled the previous evening. “No.”

Garry released Ib and pushed himself up on his elbows. Ib’s eyes opened, following Garry as he sat up. Hair still hung in front of her face.

“I’ll make you something, love.” He grabbed the back of her head and brought her closer again, kissing her forehead. Ib hummed, pleased with the idea that she didn’t have to make herself breakfast again.

The bed shifted under Garry’s weight, and the blanket crumpled as he pushed himself out of bed. His briefs were still on the carpet. He bent over to reach for them.

“You have a cute butt,” Ib purred.

“Fuck off.” He grabbed Ib’s pink panties and threw them at her. She burst into a fit of laughter.

Having slipped into some underwear, Garry stepped out into the hall. It was too cold for comfort in the living room. As he made his way over to the kitchenette, he checked the thermostat.

It read “65°F”. Way too cold. He bumped it up to 70 and went on his way.

The vents began to hum as he stepped into the kitchenette. The tile was freezing, and a shiver shot through him. He rubbed his hands together, breathing into his palms for some sort of heat.

After a moment of recovering, he retrieved butter, milk, and eggs from the fridge. He set the box of butter and jug of milk to the side and opened the egg carton, checking its contents. Four eggs were inside, which would be more than enough.

Bread, cinnamon, and vanilla were scattered around his pantry, so he sifted through spices and cereals to find his cinnamon and extract. Relieved to find them up against the back of the shelf, he grabbed the sliced bread in front of him.

It was busy work trying to find his pans and whisks, but he had one of each in due time. His bowls were always in the same place, so finding them wasn’t nearly as hard.

He cracked two eggs into a bowl and began pouring in milk before his bedroom door opened again.

“Good morning,” Garry said, still focused on his work.

“Hey,” Ib greeted him, the exhaustion in her voice still lingering. Her footsteps grew slower, soft on the carpet until she hit the tile. “What are you making?”

“French toast,” Garry answered back. “Is that alright?”

“Of course,” Ib sung groggily, leaning against his back. Her arms dangled around his hips. He was just throwing in cinnamon to the mixture before he felt the bare skin on his back. Ib pressed a kiss to his neck, not quite tall enough to reach his jaw.

Garry turned to find her idling in her frilly panties, her eyes darting around the room as she took it in again. It didn’t shock him too much to see her there, and he returned to his task.

It was odd how quickly she got used to standing around in the nude, considering doing so had always embarrassed her those last few days. Now it wasn’t even her job and she was there, topless in Garry’s apartment.

Ib marched into the living room and turned on the television with the remote Garry always left on the coffee table. The white noise and speaking that followed was drowned out mostly by the hissing of the pan in front of him.

Two slices of bread were done cooking, and Garry slid the onto a plate he had prepared at his side, one after another. He could almost smell the grease, but it _did_ look pretty delicious.

“Ib, there’s a plate for you,” Garry called to her from the kitchenette, resuming his work as he announced so.

“Oh!” Her head shot up from behind the couch. She was all-too enthusiastic to eat; by then, Garry knew fully well of Ib’s love for food.

Ib eagerly took the plate and ran around the bar counter to the dining table, pulling out a wooden chair. The smile on her face stretched from ear to ear, and the delight she found in having food in front of her was contagious to Garry. He couldn’t help but smile as she drooled over her handmade breakfast.

Having finished another two slices of french toast, Garry scooped them onto a plate and shut off the gas stove. He returned the prepared plate to the counter and went off to the fridge to put up the cold ingredients.

It took him a minute or so before the mess had been cleaned; cleaning out a bowl of spices and eggs was work enough. He piled his porcelain in the sink to sanitize and put away later.

“Are we painting again today?” Ib asked, her casual alto blocking out all other sounds.

“Yes, we are,” Garry nodded, sliding into the chair across from her. "For real this time." “Painting” wasn’t exactly politically correct, but he wouldn’t correct her. He noticed her food had gone untouched, but she was just reaching for it. Garry gave her a quizzical look. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Yep,” she confirmed, ripping a bite out of the cooked bread. “I’m gonna take a shower after I eat.” Her cheeks were full of bread before a moment could pass, but she smiled, her pink cheeks consequently rounder. “I’ve got to look my best if you’re painting me.”

* * *

A shower was just what the two of them needed, Ib especially so.

The tap was scalding, reddening the naked skin on Ib’s back. That was how Ib liked it, though, so Garry dealt.

The sound of water falling against her small figure was enough to keep the two of them quiet. The heat, although bordering an unbearable temperature, was arguably detoxing, both of them agreed.

Although the idea might have been cliche, Garry couldn’t think of a better place to be at that moment then there, in his little bathroom with Ib in front of him. This was the Ib no one else saw, and it felt so special to him that he knew who she really was, behind her stage persona. Maybe they were similar in many ways, but this girl was not vulnerable. If anything, she was beautifully confident.

Hadn’t that changed, though? Before, she had been so shy. It was different now.

How times had changed.

Ib’s hair had thinned out under the water, and her bangs dripped long over her rusty eyes. Her fingers danced over the muscles of Garry’s back, not prominent but surely there.

She rested her cheek against his chest, and Garry ran his hand through her soaked hair habitually. Ib had vocalized before how she loved the feeling, but the mix of many calming things was _incredible_. Her eyes fluttered closed.

A soft, artificial light came from the white shower curtain, and the color in Ib’s skin glowed. Her dripping chocolate hair lined the valleys of her collar. Her hips were a lyre. And _God_ did Garry adore her.

Her senses were clouded enough until she realized the absence of skin against hers. Bottles clicked against the basin of the tub, but Ib didn’t open her eyes to the sound.

The smell of flowers she had yet to identify flooded her nose. The satin touch of soap brushed against her hair, and the cap of a shampoo bottle clicked shut. He held a hand to the side of her head, the soap piled into his palm.

Ib tilted her head back ever so slightly, letting Garry’s fingers run through her hair. “It’s odd,” Garry said, pulling the shampoo through her hair, “that a week ago, you never would’ve dreamed you would be here.”

Her lips pulled into a thin smile. “How would you have known I wasn’t dreaming of doing this?”

“Maybe ‘dream’ wasn’t the right word. Tilt your head back.”

* * *

Strangely enough, the only thing on Ib’s mind was work. She was already anticipating the coming night’s events. Any hint of anxiety or panic failed to pass. She wanted to keep it that way.

With her hair pulled behind her shoulders, she held her posture stiffly, the expression on her face unreadable. If anything made her anxious, it was being painted by the guy who popped your cherry. Right after he popped said cherry, in fact.

She hadn’t said anything to him, of course. It had never really come up in conversation. But that rush of adrenaline from the night before was already fading fast. The reality of everything was slowly coming into play, and realizing after she’d already done the deed that her deed-doer was ten years older than her and working in the same strip joint as her was, frankly, _very fucking terrifying._

All she had to do was stay quiet.

Oh, there was the panic. Her only thought was a simple “whoops", but she knew the consequences would be too much to handle alone.

She pulled herself through the silence as Garry finished up with the charcoal outline of Ib’s portrait. The process had taken nearly an hour, including the time they had spent beforehand; as she had predicted, she was dying to see it finished.

A sigh escaped her lips just as Garry set the stick of charcoal to rest on the easel’s ledge, looking up from his work.

“Want to see?”

Eagerly, Ib bounded from the stool, making her way around Garry to see the work.

As far as she knew, he had captured her well. The button nose, the thin line of her lips, her choppy, self-cut bangs; they were all there.

Charcoal was smeared on Garry’s clothes, but Ib wrapped her arms around his neck negligently, ignoring the mess. “It’s amazing,” she awed. With a burst of energy nearly caught in her throat, she pecked his cheek and stood, the faintest remains of black dust smudged along the sleeves of her blouse.

“I’ll start painting it after you leave,” he promised, standing to dust himself off. Under his breath, he mumbled, “And now I have to take another shower," taking a good look at his hands. Garry didn’t think Ib would catch it, but she giggled.

A pregnant silence loomed while Garry pulled the canvas apron up over his head and hung it on the back of the easel.

“It didn’t take as long as I thought it would,” Ib noted.

“The painting will take longer,” Garry replied blandly.

Already, the conversation was dying. The cloud of doom that had already begun washing over Ib grew thick. Internally, she debated on the events of the previous night, having already realized the risk in what they had done. What would her mother say about all of this if she knew?!

“Is something wrong?”

Ib flinched, stuttering to answer him. “No, no, I was just think… thinking.”

Garry’s lips twisted into a frown, his focus narrowing. To Ib, it seemed he had an idea of the underlying cause of her concern, but he turned away, cleaning off the last of his mess from his workspace onto the plastic tarp under his feet.

Ib sighed, almost defeatedly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Another silence followed the statement of hers.

“If something’s wrong, you know you can tell me," Garry assured her.

Ib bit her tongue. “Yeah, I know.”

A quick exhale out of Garry confirmed he was finished with his job. “Are you getting hungry?”

Just the simple question on its own startled Ib, though it was completely harmless in its origin, she knew. She resolved that, yes, she was very hungry. She was always hungry, it felt like. Her response was a nod.

“Come on, then.” His smile was silently vexed, but Ib tried to ignore him as he took the lead with Ib trailing behind.

The door hung open where Garry left it, so it was a simple task of just stepping through the doorway. The daylight through the shuttered windows was strangely blinding, enhanced by the white room. The table might have been wooden, but its veneer sparkled in the light, which only seemed to make matters worse. Garry was still dusting himself off in the hall.

“What are you hungry for?” Garry asked.

Ib quipped back with good intention: “Something you don’t have to make, since you seem to love cooking for me.” Garry could only laugh.


	13. Night Seven (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garry starts to feel like a five-star asshole. Paranoia and guilt set in for both Ib and Garry when they arrive to work.

It took everything in Garry's power to not dig his nails into his steering wheel. His knuckles glowed white, and Ib could hardly read his expression from behind tinted lenses.

"I didn't think it would bother me as much as it did," Ib confessed, fumbling with her skirt habitually.

The sun was already setting to the west, hours from falling past the horizon. Both Garry and Ib could feel fatigue dawning on them by then, but they would have to tough through it for the night.

"I just wish you would've said something to me." Garry sighed, seemingly hard-focused on the road ahead, but if anything he was more concerned about Ib. "It was important that I knew."

"It all happened so fast…" Ib sighed, raking her fingers through her long brown fall. She shook her head, almost disbelievingly, slapping her hand onto her knee in exasperation. "Don't you think I should be worried about our age gap?"

Garry straightened up. It may have been something they both worried about, but saying it was a different story. "You're an adult, Ib."

"I know."

The car engine's hum filled the air. The fading daylight glinted through the trees, blinding Ib who had gone without sunglasses.

"I really don't have any right to be angry at you," Garry continued after a moment's hesitation. "I'm sorry, really."

"No, it wasn't…" Ib let herself trail off.

"Did I hurt you?"

The interruption broke her focus, and Ib stumbled. "No."

"Please be honest." He sounded truly concerned then, and Ib caught the worry in his eyes as the sunlight bounced off his aviators.

"It didn't hurt."

Garry sighed, accepting it as truth. He turned into the gravel lot behind the club building, the car's tires protesting with a whine as they always did.

"It really didn't," Ib repeated.

"I believe you." He turned into an empty space between two cars and parked, facing the rear of the building.

The car ignition halted, and Garry retrieved his keys. With a flick of his wrist on the door's armrest, the doors unlocked. Garry stepped out from the driver's side, the gravel turning under his feet.

Ib paused before exiting from the passenger's side. The ground under Garry crunched as he rounded the car hood. His fingertips grazed the hood, somehow keeping him balanced.

Garry held his hand out. It took a moment of Ib ignoring the gesture that he let his hand fall, realizing the fault in asking to hold her hand in a place where they worked.

"Sorry," he sighed.

"It's okay."

The heavy back door screamed open, and Garry held the door open with his arm above Ib's head. She walked under his reach. The door slammed closed as Garry followed her in.

It was quieter than usual, and the typical voices that traveled through the air seemed to be gone. Both Ib and Garry could make out some of the conversations behind closed doors, voices they hardly recognized, though they didn't care to eavesdrop in the first place. It was all just background noise to them.

Through a gap under her dressing room door, Ib could see the light spilling out. She breathed hard, anticipating anything as she swung the door open. She was met with the stale, hot air she was used to and Carrie's smiling face, turning to the squeaking of the door without a beat.

She met Ib's gaze with a makeup brush pressed to her cheek. "There you two are!"

"Here we are," Garry replied, waving his hands with subtle disinterest. Mary couldn't find the will to even look up, it seemed, continuing with her makeup as if Garry and Ib had never arrived.

"We've got a big night ahead of us!" Carrie sung, swinging herself back to her mirror in a stool. Something about her excitement charmed Ib, but Garry was mostly unmoved.

"What were you two up to?" Ib asked, making her way across the room to her wardrobe. "Anything exciting?"

"Oh, nothing really," Carrie replied. "Just the usual stuff." The inflection in her voice was obvious while she struggled to apply blush as she spoke. "She's been very quiet lately." She nodded her head towards Mary.

Garry plopped himself down in a bean bag and pulled out his phone, listening from the sidelines.

"I've been  _very_ tired lately…" Mary interrupted, her palette of concealer snapping closed as she complained.

Ib pulled an ensemble of lace off the rack. "You aren't your usual self, that's for sure..."

"I'll pull myself together sooner or later," Mary joked, the faintest smile beginning to show on her face. Ib replied with a grin, hooking the outfitted hanger to her wrist.

"And what, nothing out of you?" Carrie watched Garry through his reflection in the mirror; he had busied himself with his phone, and a tense silence followed before he finally looked up.

"Sorry, what?"

Carrie laughed, throwing her head back. Garry didn't seem to be fazed. Neither Ib nor Mary seemed to find it entertaining, but Ib tried to humor her. Carrie hadn't noticed the deadpan from the rest of the room.

"What's your deal today?" She asked, turning. Garry didn't meet her gaze, returning to his phone to avoid confrontation.

Once the silence had loomed over her and the message struck, she pouted and returned to work.

"You guys are awful today," she whined. "Did something happen?"

"No."

The sound of Ib's voice had Garry's attention almost instantly. Mary took note.

* * *

What Garry hadn't seen coming was this: the exhibitionism, the fact that Ib wouldn't be his.

It was a fault, one of which he couldn't bypass and only came to him when the bell on her faux-leather collar jingled as it hit her bare collar, bringing his attention to her meekly-covered breasts, her tiny waist, the creamy glow of her legs.

It begged the question, "Are you going out in that?" It was grossly invasive, and Garry wasn't in any place to ask, though it somehow felt so necessary, so  _like him_ to ask.

Of course, he wouldn't actually ask it. He would let it eat him raw, would let it devour him from the inside out before he even thought about suggesting that,  _maybe,_ this whole "stripper" gig made him the slightest bit worried for the girl he'd spent only a night with.

Only a night.

No, he wasn't allowed to let it worry him yet. One night together couldn't mean anything yet.

Ib adjusted the waistband of her bottoms, the fabric clinging to the curve of her hipbones. It was easy to tell she wasn't trying to be promiscuous. She wanted to look good, that was true, but she didn't care about her sexual appeal. Her flexibility was more important than anything, in her case.

Garry stood from where he had been sitting for nearly an hour, his legs numb as he pushed himself up. He exaggerated a yawn, stretching his arms until his knuckles nearly brushed the ceiling.

"Leaving so soon?" Carrie asked. She was just hooking her bra behind her back.

"Yes, ma'am."

Mary stepped past Garry, turning her body to give herself some distance from him. Ib was her target.

"I suppose we'll see you out on the stage then, darling," Carrie proposed, hooking her bra straps with her thumbs as if they were suspenders.

"I suppose you will." Garry tucked his phone away in his back pocket and marched to the door.

Mary whispered something to Ib, inaudible to Garry. In moments, Mary had swept past Garry with Ib on her arm. For the most part, Ib seemed to be unwilling to the idea of leaving the room.

"We'll be back, Carrie!" Mary announced. They vanished into the hallway, directed to the stage.

"Have fun, girls!"

Garry hesitated in the doorway, propping the door open with his foot.

"It's going to be so quiet without the three of you," she laughed nervously, her palms pressed into her stool.

"I'll be back soon," Garry reassured her.

Before he could take a step into the hall, Carrie's voice stopped him.

"I need to ask you something."

Garry blinked. "Oh, okay. Shoot."

She sighed. The sound was reluctant, but it came: "Can you make it less obvious that the two of you are an item?"

* * *

Somehow, Garry thought the backlash would come. It was inevitable, but maybe it was the timing that shocked him more than anything.

_"You two came to work together."_

_"That doesn't mean anything."_

_"You two aren't acting like your usual selves, Garry."_

_"You were endorsing the whole thing!"_

_"I thought you were smarter than this! Mary's probably having a heart attack right now."_

_"How would Mary know?"_

_"She's not as clueless as you think. Don't underestimate her."_

There was a mischievous sense of pride that suddenly shrouded Mary wherever she walked.

Had it been that obvious? Everything had been fine at first. He had planned everything else out well enough at first. They had left in separate cars, said nothing to anyone, kept it on the down-low.

Garry was not going to get through this so easily.

Just standing next to Mary backstage made him nauseous as she dug under her nails. Her words were sour. Her voice poured over him like styrofoam, nails, anything to describe the pain that her voice put Garry through.

Through the five minutes they stood beside each other, she hadn't said a single bitter thing, nothing about or for Garry. Everything that passed her lips was mindless, just what Garry usually expected out of her. Gossip, pointless chatter.

It was unbearable. The truest meaning of psychological torture.

The music began to fade out and back into the introductory dance music that Garry was all too familiar with. It was louder than its predecessing lounge music. That was his cue. The opener.

The first three acts were embedded in his mind: Mary, Rose, Ib. He wondered if this would be a permanent setup as he stepped out into the blinding light, the dull shine of his suit jacket and black tie shimmering under the stage lighting.

"Good evening, Rosie's!" Garry sung, speaking flamboyantly with his hands. He was met with applause, though much thicker than he recalled. "It's been too long since we've seen your faces, and I can't think of a better day to return to than this."

Something derogatory met Garry's ears. He was all too used to ignoring any shouting, and he did that just.

"But let's not waste any time," he continued. "Let's welcome…" a moment's pause, "... our charming, lovely Mary."

He moved fast enough to hear the returning applause as he slipped through the black curtain into the darkness he was oh-so-familiar with. The moment Ib came into his view, he charged.

"Where is Rose?" Garry asked frantically.

Somehow, the question caught Ib off-guard. "I don't know, why?"

"What did Mary say to you?"

"God, nothing." The corner of her lip curled, but the concern was still there in her face. "What are you worrying about?"

The door opened, and Rose stepped in with voices following her, the light behind her hiding her face from view. Her silhouette entered while the light beside her thinned to nothing. She was oblivious to everything that was happening, not even bothering to greet the two of them.

When darkness returned, Garry could make out her face more easily. Her long, blood-red rivulets bounced when she walked. Her cherry lipstick was solid, more perfect than he'd ever seen.

Garry sidestepped away from the chair next to Ib. Rose nodded to acknowledge the gesture as she sat down.

The music droned on, and all three co-workers sat in silence until the music was coming to its end. Garry left the two girls to return to the stage, where he was once again met with blinding white light.

"Isn't she gorgeous?" Garry vacantly asked the crowd. The response was unanimous. Mary hardly looked at Garry as she exited the stage floor, winking to her crowd and blowing kisses while her hips swung like a pendulum.

Garry dived through Rose's introduction, reluctant to leave Mary alone with Ib for any amount of time. He concluded and rushed back to the curtain as soon as he saw Rose come into view out of the corner of his eye.

Ib was sitting alone, swinging her legs against her tall chair when Garry returned.

"Where's Mary?" Garry huffed, a little too aggressively.

"She's on the floor," Ib replied, somehow appalled by his fervor. Money was more important to Mary now. Of course. "What is your problem tonight?"

Garry raked his fingers through his hair, grasping at his waves of purple.

"She doesn't know, surely..." Ib breathed, the realization hitting her ever so slowly.

The magic was fading. Already, the sweat was beading along Garry's forehead.

"I don't know."

Ib fell forward, head in her hands. Her groan was muffled by the heels of her hands. "There's no way."

* * *

It had to be paranoia. Mary sitting there in chair, warmly grinning to herself as she redressed herself, should have been a telling factor. How would she know for sure? How could she?

She had already reverted to her usual bouncy self once all four co-workers reconvened, but the typical air of friendliness was anything but there. She must've  _really_ woken up over the period of time she'd been working.

Of course, Mary and Carrie were both working at bringing the joy back, smoking away and changing clothes. To Ib and Garry, their voices were passive, background noise while they texted.

Garry silenced his phone. An unlit cigarette hung from his lips, forgotten.

Ib's thumbs flew across her phone keyboard, her response coming first.

_she's not that bright_

_Carrie begged to differ.._

_she wouldnt have us fired would she?_

_I don't know :(_

Ib left it as Garry had so simply put it, standing to undress. She did something Garry was praying for: she hid behind a curtain to change.

Her skimpy outfit rustled against the velvet curtain, pinned up against the wall.

Mary's voice punctuated the silence. "I'll be going now, everyone!" She announced, bounding off her stool. With great energy, she threw her bag onto her shoulder, phone gripped tight in her hand.

"Leaving so soon?" Carrie asked, turning to Mary with her shirt still around her head. The sight elicited a giggle out of Mary.

"I want to get home as soon as possible; I'm so tired."

"Oh!" Carrie pulled her shirt down around her, the fabric just above her hips. "Right, right. Sleep well, then!"

"I'll try."

A resounding "bye, Mary!" saw her off. The door nearly slammed shut.

The atmosphere instantly ripped apart when Carrie spoke again. "She's going to end you, Garry. She'll kill you with guilt."

Ib emerged from the curtain, yanking her skirt farther down her waist to cover her legs just right. "What do you mean?"

Garry and Carrie exchanged anxious glances, wondering if Ib really had no clue.

Ib spoke again. "How would she know?"

"Ib," Carrie spoke, inhaling as if she were about to give a lengthy speech, "if I can pick up the fact that you guys are canoodling, then Mary will sure as hell pick up on it."

Garry's hand twitched.

"Do you guys plan on leaving right now?"

Both Ib and Garry waited for the other to speak first. "It's Garry's call," she interrupted.

"I'm going to wait until I'm sure Mary's left," Garry said, sliding his phone back into his front pocket.

"Probably a good idea." Carrie glanced around absently, tapping her fingers against her knee with an undetermined rhythm.

Ib stepped out from the curtain, outfit dangling from her finger. Her feet were bare, but her makeup was still intact. She seemed ready to speak as she tossed aside the little bit of clothing she had, but Carrie's voice came first.

"How was the sex?"

"Oh, it was fine."

Garry's head shot up from a daze, gripping the bean bag beneath him. "Just  _fine?_ "

Carrie giggled, concealing her glee behind her hand. "Is that what you're concerned about?"

Garry was scarlet.

"It was a little too rough."

Garry screeched. "Ib!"

The sound elicited a fit of laughter out of her, and his cherry complexion thickened.

"We're only teasing you," Carrie reminded him. Garry wasn't the least bit amused, only managing a scowl.

"Do you think Mary's gone yet?" Ib asked, interrupting the flow of thought. Garry thanked every celestial being for the deviation.

Carrie carried on with the topic. "I'm sure she is," she agreed. "We can leave together."

"That's a thought," Garry considered the idea, massaging the side of his head.

Ib reached for the knee socks on the nearest stool, struggling to keep her balance as she yanked them onto her feet. Noticing the battle she was putting herself through, Garry stood and rushed to her, grabbing her elbow to keep her steady.

Carrie smiled softly, watching the scene play out to her own silence lest she interrupt the moment.

Ib laced up her boots while Garry assisted her in grabbing her bag, previously thrown against the foot of Mary's wardrobe. He offered it to Ib when she was dressed and ready to head out.

A nod was the only thanks he needed. "Alright, ladies! Let's get going."

Carrie was radiating joy. "Yes, let's!"

Taking Ib and Garry's lead, Carrie scrambled out of the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im gonna be honest i have no idea where im taking the story. i didnt think i would make it this far. 
> 
> big thanks to jamy for helping me with this!!!!! also thanks for writing me more spanking smut out of the blue i??? fucking???? love you
> 
> i think we were due for a longer chapter than the last few so that's happening. im terrible


	14. Night Eight (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lazy morning induces important conversation. Faking a platonic relationship goes better than planned for both Ib and Garry... somewhat.

The following morning was warm and comfortable, waking Ib to a cozy day of freedom late into the day. Body against hers, Garry slept lightly, the sleep ever lingering in his sunken, shut eyes. She laid there awhile, bare legs entangled with his until Ib had the strangest instinctive feeling that Garry would wake up soon, to which he did moments later.

It was cute to see him groggy, unaware of what was around him as he wiped the ever-present sleep out of his glassy eyes. He awoke with a groan, rolling onto his back as Ib giggled to the sound of his reluctant consciousness.

"Good morning, shithead," Ib greeted him warmly, one arm slung across his exposed stomach.

Garry laughed along to the sound of Ib's voice, fully aware of how silly he looked when he had just woken up. He was sure his appearance was on par with that of a wet dog, but Ib's shit-eating grin only made him happier.

"Good morning." A groan was still caught in his throat when he yawned. He was not a morning person, despite the view. The back of his hand rested on the bridge of his nose, shielding his eyes from Ib's tired stare.

"Are you hungry?"

Garry pushed himself up with a grunt, mattress sinking under his weight. "Now that you mention it, yeah." He pulled his hair to the side with nimble, awkward fingers. Pausing for a moment to assess his surroundings, he threw the duvet off of his legs and slid off the mattress.

The duvet had slid down the length of Ib's naked back, her arms bent at her sides to keep herself upright. Her hair had been tossed around from rolling through the night, and even Ib could tell she looked a mess.

One last yawn had Ib out of bed (or as close as she was comfortable getting), crawling her way across the mattress to Garry's side.

"How about you, sweetheart?" He asked, pulling a wrinkled shirt over his messy head.

Ib's face fell into the mattress, and she breathed out a giggle. "I'm always hungry."

He chuckled. "That's what I thought."

The morning was slow for both of them as Garry prepared a light breakfast for them both, Ib reluctantly allowing him to do so. She thought she could fall asleep right there on the cream couch until Garry erupted from the kitchen with plates on both arms, waffles stacked up on their plates. He'd tucked a bottle of syrup and a can of whipped cream under his arm, and Ib wondered for a moment why a bachelor kept whipped cream in his fridge before it dawned on her that it just might have been the staple in the diet of a bachelor, especially Garry.

" _Please_  take this plate," Garry begged, extending his arm as far as he could with the container of cream under his arm. "I can feel the can slipping."

Grinning at his misfortune, Ib ever-so-casually took the warm porcelain in her hands and set it on the coffee table at her knees. "I could've helped, you know," She barked, turning the handle of the fork on her plate towards herself.

Garry knelt to set his plate down as gently as he could. It clattered nonetheless, despite his best attempt.

Ib took the canister of cream from his arm before Garry could, not hesitating to carelessly empty the contents of the can, much to Garry's dismay.

"Thank you for the food!" She sung, carving a triangle into her food with the edge of the fork Garry had set on her plate. Garry had only just relaxed into the seat next to her after Ib had gotten a few good bites out of her stack of two. He had been too busy trying to catch up to notice, after a minute, that her plate had been cleaned completely.

Ib collapsed into the couch cushions, bloated and lethargic. "Thank you," she repeated, legs sprawled across the couch.

Through his food, Garry mumbled a "you're welcome", almost intimidated by how much food she had put down in such a short amount of time.

He took the plates without warning once the food was gone. Ib might as well have fallen asleep, but Garry didn't mind the work; it kept him entertained, and that was all that mattered.

He found a sleeping Ib when he returned to the den. It was almost impressive how quickly she could pass out. Then again, she probably deserved the sleep.

Legs thrown up onto the seat, she buried her sleepy face into a throw pillow, her back rising with each passing second. It wasn't a comfortable couch, but Ib seemed to sink right into it.

Garry knelt down to her face, brushing aside her hair effortlessly with his thumb. He contemplated whether or not waking her up would be a bad idea (and consequently turn Ib into a drowsy monster), but he knew her back would hurt if she stayed there.

He tried to rouse her awake, nudging her shoulder. "Hey. Wake up."

Ib's eyes batted awake.

"Hey, don't fall asleep here."

Groaning, she turned her head away. She mumbled something unintelligible. Garry was unimpressed.

"Your back is going to hurt if you sleep like this," he warned.

"But I'm  _tired._ " Her whining was on par with that of a child.

"Come on, let's move you somewhere."

He tried to nudge her awake, but the only response he got was another exasperated groan. Already annoyed, Ib's grip on the pillow tightened.

Garry sighed, taking a seat on the carpet to ease the weight on his legs. He rested his arm on the seat cushion. "I need to talk to you about something."

Ib recognized the tone of his voice to be serious enough for her somewhat-faltering attention. She turned her head to face him, sleep still setting in her sunken cherry eyes. "What is it?"

"Do you  _really_ want to keep doing this?"

Her voice was muffled by her arm, pulled up to her face. "Doing what?"

"This whole 'sleeping together' thing. Do you want to keep doing that?"

Ib seemed almost worried, and she laughed anxiously. The idea of sleep at this point had escaped her entirely. "I guess, why?"

Garry massaged the bridge of his nose, elbow digging into the couch cushion.

"Do you think I think of this as a 'friends-with-benefits' situation, or-"

"Ib, so far, that's all it's been, but you could get into a lot of trouble because of me."

Ib's face tightened, and she seemed to release all the tensity in her body at once. "Then we'll just keep it a secret. We'll play it off as friends."

Garry glanced to the floor. It wasn't a crazy idea, but the idea of lying about something like this made him significantly uncomfortable. "Fine."

As Garry considered his situation, Ib pushed herself up onto her arm, shoving the pillow to her side. "Just so you know, I wasn't looking for a 'friend-with-benefits' when I came home with you on the first night."

* * *

There was a kind of anxiousness that came along with the responsibility of hiding a  _whole fucking relationship_ from a group of people, lest you be fired from your stripping job and expelled from your college. Ib didn't know why she was continuing with this relationship in the first place, sometimes. On the other hand, hiding this little fact probably wouldn't be as big of a deal as she made it out to be.

Or maybe it would.

It didn't take long for Ib to recall the things Garry had reminded her of. She had left for work nearly half an hour after Garry did, taking her own car for the journey to Rosie's.

Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong. Things just didn't play out well for either of them, and, somehow, Ib felt this wouldn't be any different. It wasn't anything with the car she was driving, nothing inward with herself, but she felt as if things were unresolved. She wanted to know if she was going steady. She wanted to know whether or not this relationship would have her in deep shit or if Mary or someone else would stab her in the back.

She didn't need Garry, per se. Sure, he was good company, but that was really all he was. Sure, it would've hurt to leave him behind or to have him to the same to her, but his company didn't keep her alive.

She just wanted closure.

The drive on the highway, for Ib, was steady, but not entirely relieving. A motorcycle obnoxious to Ib's state of mind, flew past as she pondered what she had gotten herself into. The turn into work would be up soon. The front lot was empty, but she was sure the rear entrance was crowded with cars, shielded by a mask of brick and trees.

She turned onto the short gravel road, nerves returning to her as she slowed to an acceptable fifteen miles. The responsibility of pretending was nearly too much to bear, but she would have to pretend for now. Maybe this would just take some getting used to.

The rear lot was scarcely populated, a few cars parked facing the back wall. Mary's didn't seem to be among them, but, sure enough, Garry's was there, at the end of the line. Carrie's car was a few spaces over. Ib parked at the edge of the trees, facing away from the club building.

A cold December breeze lifted her ironed bangs and skirt as she slammed shut her car door, keys rattling in her hand. She fixed her loose scarf over her face, teeth nearly chattering.

The difference in temperature from the outside to the club interior might as well have had her sweating immediately, but she preferred it over the cold. Unbuttoning her coat with her keyring still looped on her finger, she made her way to her dressing room, heels clicking over the sound of shrill voices through the wooden dressing room doors.

From yards away, Ib could already hear Carrie's voice trail into the empty hall, full of guaranteed enthusiasm.

The door clicked open as Ib stepped inside, and the silence that first loomed was replaced with a joyful squeal out of Carrie, who jumped up to say hello. She bounded over, pulling Ib into a tight embrace.

"I was waiting for you!" She cried, hopping up and down with endless energy. "I have good news!" Carrie jumped back, hands balled into fists before she reached out and grabbed Ib's shoulders.

Ib returned the excitement, smiling enthusiastically as she returned the gesture by placing her hands on Carrie's arms. "Well, out with it."

Carrie composed herself, exhaling dramatically to regain a sense of calm. "The kid down at the convenience store down the road gave me more cigarettes for my birthday!"

"Is your birthday today?"

"No, of course not! It's next week." Carrie still spoke at a hundred miles an hour, despite her futile attempts to calm herself down. "But he said he would give me more if I came down every day until then!"

"Well, don't smoke them all in one place," Ib joked, much to Carrie's amusement. She paraded back to her chair, where a stack of what might as well have been fifteen cartons of cigarettes were piled on her counter.

Garry sat in the beanbag Ib preferred, puffs of smoke spilling from his lips. "Hey, kiddo!" He said, somehow already so optimistic.

Ib waved hesitantly. "Hey there."

"No need to pretend around me," Carrie butted in.

Ib put a hand on her hip, sculpted brow raised. "Who's pretending?"

"Oh, cute _._ " She scooped the pile of loaded cigarette cartons into her vanity drawer, shaking her head.

Ib pulled herself up onto a stool, facing the mirrors. She wasn't quite ready to change, herself. In the first place, she didn't know what the night had in store for her. Ib wasn't in the mood to worry about it.

"What are you doing for your birthday, then?" She asked.

"Smoking all of these cigarettes, of course!" Carrie cackled, but she dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. "Joking. I'll probably celebrate here."

"You did that last year," Garry pointed out, standing to extinguish his cigarette in Carrie's crystal ashtray.

"And I don't plan on changing a thing." She spun herself around on her stool, throwing her short hair back confidently.

Having smothered his cigarette, Garry shrugged. "Alright, then."

Ib quickly stole his seat, audibly plopping herself down. Amused, Garry melodramatically faked his disappointment, sighing as he took the stool Ib had left him.

The thick, distinct click of puppy heels down the hall brought both Garry and Carrie to attention, but Ib was not yet familiar enough with the sound to turn her attention from the phone she'd retrieved from her purse. Carrie, unamused, took her lone cigarette from the counter and held it in her lips.

The door squeaked open just as Ib was reacting to the sound of Mary's approach; she stood tall in the door, holding a power stance. A Victoria's Secret bag dangled from her arm.

"I brought gifts for you all!" Mary shouted, beaming from ear to ear.

The collective group gasped. The announcement had them excited immediately.

"What is it?!" Carrie replied with a yelp, jumping from her seat.

Mary grinned devilishly, looking to the ceiling. "I'm giving them to you after the show, okay?"

Carrie groaned. "I can't wait that long!"

"Well, you better have some damn patience!" Mary retorted, laughing as she caught the bag's strings with her curled fingers. It coiled around her fingers. "I thought we could use a little bit of excitement, no matter how long."

"Well, thank you for the thought," Garry said, kicking his heel against the stool leg.

"Oh, Mary!" Carrie leapt forward with endless energy, squeezing Mary tight. Mary returned the gesture, wrapping her arms around Carrie's waist. "You're such a delight!" Mary giggled all the while, trying to keep herself steady while Carrie threw her around.

"I could say the same about you!" Mary replied, smiling into Carrie's neck.

Carrie released her, running her hands down the length of her arms to hold Mary's hands in hers. "Thank you, sweetheart." Carrie thanked her with a kiss on both cheeks, and Mary received the gesture with a smile.

"Wanna start getting ready, then?" Mary asked her coworkers, setting her bag on the chair next to her.

"Schedule says you're up first, Mary," Garry announced, much to Mary's immediate dismay. "Ib is supposed to follow."

Mary could only frown at her father's choices in schedule, but she let it slide past. "I guess getting into costume right now would be my best bet, then?"

Garry nodded. "I'd say so."

Carrie interrupted the conversation fluidly. "When am I on?"

"I don't remember." Garry returned to his phone, and the chair next to him creaked as Ib stood to dress herself. "I left the papers on the podium."

"How  _dare_ you make me do all this work!" She scoffed. Garry did the same. "I'll be back."

The groan of the dressing room door followed Carrie's exit before it slammed shut. Silence hung in the air before the sound of Ib's wardrobe doors opening punctured it.

"What should I wear…?" Ib mumbled absently, scanning her outfit choices for the night as if to make small conversation with the room.

Mary entertained her. "This one," she suggested, pulling out a velvety ensemble.

"No, that's the cat outfit."

"This one?" Her second choice was the beady two-piece she'd worn on her first night.

"It's not Thursday today."

"Damn, you're making this hard!" Mary cried, tugging at the roots of her blonde rivulets. "You obviously know better than I do!"

"That would be true," Ib laughed, pulling out a clean two-piece set. It looked too form-fitting, as if it were made solely out of leathery, red spandex.

"That's not cute."

"I don't think cute is what we're supposed to be going for…"

"That's what I go for."

Ib smirked. "Maybe I could learn something from you."

Garry laughed, but Mary only rolled her eyes.

"What are you doing, then, old man?" Mary asked, peeling off her knitted black leggings.

"Playing a game," he said, quietly enthralled in whatever it was.

"What game?"

"Um, none of your business…?"

"Wow, prick." She pulled the satin gown off over her head.

"You're being a right asshole," Ib added, laughing over the sounds of Mary squirming her way out of her clothes. Garry laughed with her, but even the softness of his own laughter had him glowing red.

"Is it Angry Birds?" Mary asked.

"Um, no."

"It's Angry Birds," Ib agreed, nodding as she unbuttoned her blouse.

"God, you're lame," Mary groaned.

"Yeah."

Ib bit her tongue, trying furiously not to crack a smile. "That's not very nice, Mary..."

Mary shrugged, seeming almost offended by what Ib had said. "If he's going to be a little bitch, I'll be a little bitch right back."

Ib took the excuse as valid, sleeves rolling down her arms. Garry tossed his phone to his side, retrieving his cigarette carton from his coat pocket. He tapped out a cigarette into his palm.

"Unhook me," Mary demanded with little force, turning her back to Ib. She undid the clasp without another word, and the lacey yellow bra rolled off her shoulders.

The process of preparing for work was none too exciting with Carrie gone while the other girls were busy, and this night was no exception. It hadn't taken long for Ib to realize this, but she knew that soon, all her pent-up energy would be only a memory.

* * *

Sweat already rolled down Ib's forehead, and she dried herself off with a towel backstage while Carrie was out dancing. Ib couldn't say where Mary was, but Ib was sure it had to be work-related, at least. With no one else around, the job of fanning herself and wiping off sweat was entirely Ib's responsibility to juggle. She thanked every deity she could name that her makeup had been sealed properly.

She didn't have much time to sit all on her own in the silence. In seconds, she was back on her feet, giving herself a final face full of towel before she threw it to the side and made her way to the floor.

A line had formed at the staff entry door, dancers and performers lined up nearly to Ib's dressing room door in preparation to perform on the floor. The rhythmic music that played out over the speakers trailed into the back hall through a stage door, held open by a girl that Ib had never met (or, at least, a girl whose name she had forgotten long ago).

The poppy music beyond Ib's vision came to a halt where it ended, and Carrie's voice followed instead of Garry's, something Ib hadn't expected.

"I just wanted to say that tonight is supposed to be ladies' choice…" she announced. The audience's verdict was obvious through a chorus of groans and sighs. "... but I'm not that mean, am I? It's your night tonight, boys, so choose them before they're gone!" A roar of applause nearly drowned her out, but Carrie continued. "Come on out, girls!"

Far ahead of Ib, Mary stood in line to leave, chatting away as everyone had just begun to parade their way out. She held hands with Lady, nearly skipping out the door. Ib watched on, following the line of girls out onto the floor of onlooking men.

The sounds of raucous cheering and laughter filled Ib's ears as she followed behind the crowd of strippers, a false grin plastered on her face. Entering the space, she wondered, more than anything, if Garry was watching her right then. She winked at her guests and waved to her regulars.

She nearly danced her way over to a table where a few college boys had seated themselves at a round table, facing the stage.

Though the music that carried overhead nearly drowned her out, Ib managed to speak over the noise. With her thumb, she stretched the waistband of her bottoms to the general direction of the group, scanning their faces. They didn't look too grimy.

Shouting over the music was her only choice, but she tried her best to sound sweet. "May I have this dance?"

The answer was a twenty, slipped between the elastic and her hipbone.

When she turned, she tried her best to look ecstatic about what she was doing. It might have been her job, but she had to show Mary that she was proud of herself and proud to service herself in front of Garry, no matter what she believed.

Ib was delighted to feel air and nothing else as she danced for her temporary client, hips swaying in time to music she'd never really heard. Scanning the crowd for the few moments she kept her vision, she tried to find who was around her.

Garry was not among her scattered coworkers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the support you all left while i was off doing exams, finals, and anime conventions
> 
> also another HOOPLAH to the Ib AU festival on tumblr because it's helping me plan another fic that will be coming up after this. 
> 
> it includes the "stripper" prompt as well. i am 1000% responsible


	15. Night Eight (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garry breaks down, and then decides, "Eh, fuck it."

Something unexplainable bubbled up in Garry’s throat when the lock on his dressing room door clicked. He swore he could feel the hair ripping away at his roots as he tugged away, emotions nearly boiling up into his eyes and spilling over like a rising tide.

He was so useless, and now, to break down like this, he was entirely worse. He was ashamed of himself.

Carrie composed herself calmly as she sat down next to Garry, where he sat on the carpet with his knees pulled up to his chest in a state Carrie could safely say she had never seen him in. If Garry was on the brink of blubbering like a baby, it wasn’t something Carrie hadn’t seen, but it had to be important. This was definitely different from how she had seen him on previous occasions where he’d broken down.

“What is wrong with you tonight?” She asked, hushed but still so aggressively concerned. “Talk to me.”

Of all the places Garry had to have realization slammed into him, it was onstage where he was working, where everyone could see him.

Wouldn’t the truth sound so conceited coming from him? Ib didn’t belong to anyone, especially not Garry. She was her own person. Why was it, then, that seeing her like that turned his stomach over? Why was it that he felt so envious when he’d had so much more?!

The dam burst a few moments after, rivers lacing through his trembling fingers as a racking sob shook him to the floor. Carrie, her hand on Garry’s back while she tried her hardest to sit and let him ride through it all, felt him choking through it all under the weight of the stuffy clothes on his back.

Look at all of the things he’d risked, just for this.

Carrie sat with her legs folded under her, arms wrapped around Garry’s neck in a gentle attempt to comfort him in the state he was in. By now, though, there probably wasn’t any going back.

“What the fuck have I done?” He sobbed, leaning against Carrie. She pulled his face closer to her chest, wiping away at the tears on his face with the ball of her hand.

“You fucked a stripper,” Carrie answered blandly, pulling the fried bangs out of Garry’s eyes. He groaned.

She listened to his anguish a minute longer before she continued on, not wanting to worsen the state he had already fallen into. “Mary won’t use this against you,” she reassured him. “I know you care about Ib, but you’re not the only one. She wouldn’t do that to Ib.”

Saying so didn’t change Garry’s mind, knowing Mary might as well have been a saint in Carrie’s eyes. The muffled chants of “fuck, fuck, fuck” drowned out any thought running through Garry’s mind.

He’d worked at Rosie’s forever, but even with the relationship he’d had with his boss wouldn’t be enough to save Garry from what he’d done now, surely. He couldn’t count on two hands how many people had been fired for the same reason, and like hell Garry would be getting a free pass.

“I really messed up, didn’t I?” Garry breathed, voice faltering as he pushed out the last of his worry.

“Maybe so,” Carrie murmured, arms still wrapped around his neck, “but this will pass soon enough. Whatever happens, happens.”

If anything, Garry just wanted the problem to fix itself. He pawed at his eyes, wiping away tears.

Carrie continued, squeezing his hand. “Listen to me, Garry.” He met her gaze, his eyes red and glowing under the flourescent light. “I want you to tell Ib the truth tonight, okay? Are you going home together?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” She nodded to herself, glancing away to gather her thoughts. “Don’t hide any of this from her. She really deserves to know.” Garry couldn’t help but break away and stare to the floor. “You did do this to yourself, Garry. You really did.”

“I’m aware.”

Would Mary have him fired? There wasn’t much reason behind her needing to do so, as far as he knew.

Carrie pushed herself up onto her feet. “Wait until you don’t look like you’ve been smoking your lungs away before you come back to the room,” she said, pulling her hair behind her ear. She extended a hand and helped him up. “I’ll tell everyone you were dehydrated and had a few cookies to toss.”

“Thanks.”

Carrie unlocked the door and walked out, leaving Garry to himself. He took himself to the mirror, still wiping away at his eyes.

When he’d returned to his dressing room after fleeing the stage with Carrie, a Victoria’s Secret bag had been positioned near-perfectly on the lone counter in his dressing room. Inside, a box of 25 pleasure-ribbed, lubricated condoms, sat waiting for him. On top of the box, a cheap, adhesive bow.

* * *

Garry’s body crashed against Ib’s, lost in a mess of sweat and teeth. Ib nearly tore her blouse apart. A single button, once fastening Ib’s collar, fell to the carpeted floor.

Hands fumbling on his tie, Ib was too preoccupied letting herself fall apart instead of getting Garry’s clothes off for him.

“Mary knows about us.” Garry could hardly push out all the things he needed to say, but they came soon enough.

Still trapped in her blouse, Ib tore the cuffs from her wrists.

“What did Mary give you?”

“Lingerie.”

Garry’s hand ran up the pale length of Ib’s thigh, pulling the lace down until Garry could feel it ripping under the strain. He gave Ib’s breast a gentle grope, her chest rising hard against him.

Her hand flew down, undoing Garry’s trousers. Still lost in the taste of her, Garry groaned, pulling Ib down to the mattress. She tried and succeeded in her tediosity to plant feverish kisses on the length of his jawbone as if each one would be her last.

The heat that engulfed him dragged Garry through the tediosity of it all. Not that he minded being kissed all over. Their pink, striped gift bags tumbled to the floor, both now empty.

The ashy taste of Garry was something Ib had grown all too used to. Now, it was just a reminder of how far they’d come in such a short amount of time.

“Garry, I... had something different in mind tonight.”

“Are we really putting these things to good use?”

“Well, why not?”

Garry’s awkward fingers struggled against the clasp of Ib’s bra, yanking it off of her when the job had been done. Her breath was heavy already, face flushed in various shades of pink.

What held him back was the mutual understanding that this was the problem.

He’d told himself this a thousand times before, but that had never changed his mind. They came back to each other for more and more and more until the next day came around.

He’d known full and well the consequences. He could go on forever. Why was he still here?! How many times had he told himself that this relationship had been a dangerous thing to start from the very beginning?! He knew the rules, he knew what he was getting into, and he was sure he knew what would come of it all.

Maybe she was the thing to get him off of cigarettes, but even she was more dangerous.

The tug on the collar of his undershirt pulled him away from his muddled thoughts, mouth full of something wonderful that couldn’t have belonged to anyone but Ib.

He bit down on her lip, but as he pulled away he heard a muffled “ow” slip through her teeth. He chuckled a “sorry”, lips crashing together again as if it had never happened. Ib could only groan against him.

With her, it was very easy to forget the risks of everything he was doing.

Fingers grazing along her skin, Garry could feel her getting hotter just by his touch.

“You said…” Garry began, but he was momentarily silenced by a kiss Ib stole, “... you wanted to try--” He breathed hard. “--something different…”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Ib giggled in reply. She pressed her hand against his shoulder, trying to get a good look at him.

Garry silently complied, trying to catch his breath. “What was that again?”

“Well…” Ib let out a sigh, “... spanking sounded nice, but we’re already--”

“No, that’s fine. That’s fine. I--I can do… I can do spanking.” He pushed back his bangs with twitching fingers, voice wavering.

Spanking was an interesting idea. Not something he’d done, but he could do it. He could try spanking. He could hit a girl. How did spanking fetishes work again?

Ib sat up, pushing up Garry with her. She went from partner to mentor in seconds, palm pressing into his thigh. “You’re not going to hover over me and spank me at the same time. Sit down.”

He did as he was told. Ib stretched herself across his lap, face-down into the sheets. She held her arm behind her back, and Garry laced his fingers in hers.

Ib let out another heavy sigh, cheek pressed to the blankets. She could only see Garry out of the corner of her eye. “It’s gonna hurt me, so our safeword will be the same as always.”

Garry nodded. Ib turned her head away.

Now, Garry had to cross the hurdle of actually spanking her. Her skirt was the only thing that remained, riding up the length of her thighs when she had laid down. He hooked the fabric with his hand and slid it up. It took him a moment to process what he was doing before his hand ran slow along the length of her inner thigh.

Ib trembled, catching Garry’s attention to remind him that he had business to attend to.

He tested the waters with a whack, but it elicited nothing but an instant jerk. Ib settled again after a moment, muscles relaxing.

A harder whack with harder flinching, and Garry could hear the faint sound of Ib groaning into the bedspread. The grip on his hand wasn’t as strong anymore.

Was it okay, then? Once more. She didn’t make any noise the third time around, but it took longer for her to settle. He watched her face for a moment. Her chest rose and fell slowly.

Her skin had already started to turn pink.

It must’ve been okay. He tried harder. Ib protested loudly, and Garry found himself enjoying the situation he’d been put in.

“Are you okay?” He whispered, leaning closer. Ib replied with a nod, squeezing his hand in hers.

The whole process felt repetitive, but slowly her cries grew louder and louder… and louder, until Garry was sure she was actually crying. Then, he wasn’t enjoying it too much.

Unsure about how to go on while still feeling guilty, he slid his hand down between her legs, watching Ib all the while to make sure she was okay.

There was no more protesting out of her.

* * *

Ib’s skin glowed, but even her consciousness was beginning to fade.

Arm hooked under her stomach, Garry laid himself parallel to her, massaging lotion into her skin. Ib’s lidded eyes watched him in the dark, and every so often he could hear her giggle softly as she looked on.

“Don’t laugh,” Garry murmured, watching her face, but Ib couldn’t help but do just that. The fatigue showed in their faces when they smiled.

A comfortable silence remained when Garry rubbed his hands together, reaching across Ib for the arm under her. For a moment, his hand returned to her back, rubbing little circles with his thumb.

“I love you,” Ib cooed, hiding her smile behind her balled fists.

It took Garry a moment to process, but his eventual grin, however lethargic, was comforting to her.

“I love you too.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Hushing himself, he continued. “Are you feeling alright?”

Ib nodded, hair tangling against the sheets. A groan out of her surprised Garry. “It stings.”

Garry’s brows knotted together. “Was it bad?”

Through a veil of exhaustion, Ib tried to shake her head furiously. “No. Just hurt.” She sounded a lot like a child, and Garry hadn’t realized how true the thought was until then.

She was a really special vision of an ideal girl. Beautiful hair. Bright eyes. Rosy cheeks.

He was very lucky.

 


	16. Night Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: death threats, homophobic slurs.

It took a good hour for Garry to wake up and realize he was running over the soft, subtle lines of Ib’s back with his hand.

He brought his arm around her waist, pulling her closer despite the weakness brought on by the morning’s haze. Spooning her was so easy and effortless, though, that he was beginning to find himself doing it every chance he had.

Being moved around had effectively woken Ib, and she came to with a groan.

She rolled over, met with Garry’s face inches from hers. She giggled drunkenly at the sleepy sight of him, pink lips brushing against his. The night had left her warm and comfortable. Garry held her tighter, trying to steal her warmth.

She’d taken all the blankets.

Garry pulled back all of the comforter that he could, reeling back and rolling over to tease a groggy Ib. He knew it worked when she hit his back with her fist, protesting with a whine from the back of her throat.

Garry’s phone buzzed from the nightstand, startling Ib. Rolling his eyes at the idea of moving, he turned over and reached for his phone. The light hurt his vision, and it took him a moment to read what was on the screen.

“ **Mary** (just now): good morning sunshine :-)”

The last person he wanted to hear from on a Monday morning. He turned back over to watch Ib some more, but she had other things in mind; she was already well out of bed, pulling her clothes on. Bruises peeked out from under the elastic of her panties.

Garry watched her from behind. Quietly.

“Can you drive me home?” She asked, looking at him over his shoulder.

His eyes darted up. “Sure.”

Garry was up in seconds, tugging on a pair of wrinkled trousers just to have something to wear outside. It wasn’t his Sunday best, that was for sure, but it would work.

It didn’t take much for Ib to look like quite the vision. She seemed distant and her smile was tired, but it fit her somehow. Tired or not, she was still something special.

She patted down the pleats of her skirt. “Ready to go?”

Garry nodded.

* * *

 

“ **Mary** (16 minutes ago): did you put my gift to good use?? :-)”

 

* * *

He’d hardly taken two steps into the building before his phone lit up through his pants. He simply ignored it. He could check it later.

Mary’s voice bounced off the drywall, drowning out anyone else. Garry couldn’t say he was surprised, but he could feel his muscles tensing. He didn’t want to face whatever lay beyond Mary’s door. Even Carrie wouldn’t be of much help, he could tell.

His shoes squeaked against the laminate. Every noise he made hurt to hear, and he wondered if Mary could hear him. But, of course, her voice carried without so much as a pause as Garry drew closer and closer. Mary seemed excited. Not that there was anything to be excited about, as far as Garry would assume.

No, he was just fooling himself. There was plenty for her to be happy about. She knew what was going on, somehow. He couldn’t lie to himself anymore.

So why stop now? What was the point of continuing to hide it if she knew? For security? Security was a good assumption, but it was too late for that now.

As if Garry would be able to lead her off his trail.

His entrance was slow, but Carrie was close enough to be the first to greet him with a sunny “hello”.

Mary followed suit, typically. “Evening, shitlord.” Garry could only shake his head.

Carrie was already getting to work with props, looking exhausted but eager as ever. She’d driven Mary along with her, as she did every other day.

Mary sat herself next to him when he took a seat in the back of the room to smoke his life away. It irritated him, to say the least, but she wouldn’t get anything out of him.

He still had yet to read his daily schedule that was surely waiting for him on the podium, but it could wait.

Not a minute had passed before Garry realized that even the sound of inhaling nicotine was too loud for the rest of them.

“It’s so boring without Ib here,” Mary began, breaking the tension. “She’s changed us.”

Garry didn’t even think to comment.

“Does she have classes today?” Carrie asked, looking up from a bin of broken props she’d been sifting through.

Mary nodded, glancing at Garry.. “I think so.” When no reply came, she continued. “Carrie, can you get me some water?”

Carrie came to attention as soon as she heard her name. She seemed to be excited to have something better to do than fix something.

“Shut the door, would you? It’s hot out there.”

Carrie nodded, and the latch on the door clicked.

“What’s new with you?”

“You fucked her yesterday.”

Smoke dripped from Garry’s parted lips.

“She’s been here for a week, and you’ve already had sex with her.”

Mary’s stool caught the carpet and tumbled back, slamming against the wall. She swiped the cigarette out of Garry’s hand. Garry jumped up from his seat, bracing himself. “You--” Garry wouldn’t let her finish.

“Shut the fuck up!”

She took his buttoned collar in her hands. He could feel her knuckles against his neck. “Daddy may love _you_ , but he doesn’t love Ib.”

Blood rose to Garry’s head at an unfathomable speed. He wrapped his hands around Mary’s tiny wrists, but she was unbelievably strong. “What do you want?”

“Break her heart. Get her out of here before I get both of you in deep shit.”

The whole scenario felt like a dream. It hurt Garry to breathe.

Mary wasn’t stopping. “Get her out, or I’ll get her out myself.” The grip on his collar released, and Garry gasped for air. She shoved him, and his back hit the wall. “It’s my word against yours now, faggot.”

His eyes had already started to water.

Mary giggled. She was such a picture of a movie antagonist, it was painful. Even being in the same room was too much now.

“It’s her or both of you, Garry.”

Garry rose his head high, but the shock was choking him. His voice was shot. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

Mary inched toward him, so slowly that when she pressed against him, Garry nearly jumped.

“I didn’t intend for those condoms to be used for Ib.”

Carrie returned, two cups of water in hand.

* * *

The night was long without Ib’s entertainment. No one was used to the fact that Ib would certainly miss some days, but the boss had no choice but to adapt. He seemed to have done well, as far as Garry was concerned.

Mary had gotten a lot of time on-stage. She must’ve been happy about that. In fact, Garry was _sure_ she was happy just by seeing the smile on her face while she performed.

Garry had the last hour off, and he tried to relax by kicking back and smoking. First one cigarette, then two. Then three.

He’d nearly rinsed through a whole pack until Carrie broke and ripped the carton from his hands.

“You’re going through these like candy!” She scolded, hand on her hip. “What’s the matter with you?”

Garry shrugged, holding a sigh in his lungs before it forced its way out. “Just a bad day.” He kept his eyes fixed on his cigarettes.

Carrie took a moment to absorb the information. “Well…” She stared at the box’s label before turning and striding across the room. She peered into the top. “There’s only two left in here, and I don’t want you smoking them right now.” Carrie eyed him.

“Why not?”

“I may be just as bad, but I can still be concerned for you.” She tossed the cigarette carton towards her purse in vain. It bounced and slid across the vanity countertop. “I have to get back to work. Mary will be back in a moment, so I’ll tell her not to let you smoke.”

Garry couldn’t get a word in before the door slammed shut on him.

He sat in silence, staring at the carpet. After a few seconds, hoping she would be out of earshot, he leapt up from his beanbag to the unguarded carton.

Both cigarettes slid from the opening, and he took one between his fingers.

“Carrie told me you can’t do that.” He hadn’t even heard her come in, but there she was, shutting the door behind her.

Garry rolled his eyes, leaning back against the vanity with an unlit cig still in his hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mary cut him off.

“We’re going to have a talk, you and me.” She pulled a stool from the wall, setting it in front of her.

Garry watched her as she moved to the door and turned the lock.

“You can sit down there.” Mary said, nodding to the stool.

Garry took his time. Mary looked him over all the while. His shoes squeaked against the legs of the chair.

Mary untied her top from behind her neck, and it fell to the floor. “I realized something after we had that talk earlier.” Her yellow daisy clip released her bunched rivulets. They fell around her shoulders in waves. “I wasn’t clear enough.” She tossed the flower to the floor. “But now, I’ve calmed down a bit.”

She clapped her hands together, and Garry jumped. He’d never seen such a shit-eating grin in his life just then.

“Here’s the deal,” Mary continued, stepping over her beaded top in her stilettos. “My daddy will believe me over you.” She paused, staring below his belt. “That means he’ll sooner believe me when I say you fucked Ib than you saying you didn’t.”

She reached for a stool next to her and pulled it behind her, much to Garry’s relief. Even just a difference of a few feet wasn’t enough space for him now.

Mary crossed her legs. “If you don’t get Ib out of this club in the next thirty-six hours, I will have you dealt with.” Her eyes burned holes into him. “That includes Ib. Get her to quit. Break all ties you have with her and come back tomorrow like you don’t have a clue what happened.” She spoke at a million miles per hour.

“What happens if I don’t?”

“Did you not just fucking _hear_ me?!” Her grip on her seat turned her knuckles white. “‘Dealt with’, as in fucking _killed._ I will _fucking murder_ both of you.” Her manicured nail was aimed at him. “No, my boys will murder you. The people who will do anything for me. They _love_ me.”

Garry stood behind the stool, arms at his sides.

She glared at him until something snapped. Her face fell. She collected herself. She smiled. She was sugary sweet. “I will be the star of this club. Ib will leave, and I’ll have you to myself.”

Sweat dripped down Garry’s face. He couldn’t look away.

“Fail to leave her, and I’ll know. If something doesn’t happen like I want it to, I will make absolutely sure you are both dead.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You should absolutely bet on it.”

“What if I don’t?”

She breathed hard, eyes narrowing. She caught herself. “You aren’t going to take that chance, Garry. Any other questions?”

Garry was panting. “How did you know about last night?”

The question caught Mary off-guard. “You dumb piece of shit!” She began to laugh, but it subsided quickly.“My boys will do _anything_ for me.”

* * *

 

“ **Mary** (just now): have you made a decision? :-D”

 

“ **Garry** (just now): have you made a decision? :-D”

“ **Ib** (just now): ??? huh?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so if i said anything about a certain chapter being hardest to write i lied i lied very much because this chapter was damn near impossible and i hated it and im SO glad it's over
> 
> edit: i went back and read all my notes after i finished this fic. Epilogue was the hardest chapter by far. i lied to you all


	17. Night Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Call ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: death threats, descriptive gore, mentions of puking.

“I quit.”

It took a moment for the message to sink in for Ib’s boss. Even then, he was speechless. “Are you serious?”

Ib fixed her posture, fidgeting slightly. “Yes, sir.”

It felt like such an adult thing for Ib to say. She’d definitely never said it before. It felt liberating, but… truthfully, she didn’t want to leave. She wasn’t even sure this would help her now, but what else was there to do?

“This is so sudden!” The manager put his head in his hands, eyes wide in sheer disbelief. “I never would have thought…” He looked up, but his worries were made reality by the look in Ib’s eyes. He averted his gaze.

Garry certainly hadn’t expected this end for Ib when Garry had only known her as a shy newbie, too anxious to step on stage.

“Sir, there’s someth--” Garry continued, but he was cut off.

“What’s the meaning of this...?” He was heartbroken. A verbal guilt trip would have been better, Ib realized. The guilt choked her enough to be nauseating.

Garry gulped hard, reconsidering his choice of words very hesitantly. “Boss, Mary has been sending us death threats because of my relationship with Ib.”

The manager’s drooping face stiffened. Ib’s head shot up, stomach churning.

“I’m sorry. I know your policy.” The whole time, he’d kept eye contact. “But I fear for our safety.”

The painful, teary look in the manager’s eyes turned to unadulterated rage, but Garry tried not to acknowledge it. He stared Ib dead in the face, and Ib couldn’t help but stare regretfully back. He inhaled, and, for a moment, the anger dissolved into a different flavor of disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me...”

Garry dropped his head.

“You realize they’re empty threats, yes?” The manager sighed.

A sigh shook Garry, and he began to tremble out of fear. “Sir, I don’t think these are empty threats…” Just the sound of his own struggle put Ib into silent hysterics.

The manager opened a drawer and sorted through a stack of papers until he found what he wanted. He shook his head. “Sorry to see you go, Ib.”

Was there no mercy when they were falling apart in front of his eyes?! “Is there anything I can do?” Garry asked. “Anything at all?”

The boss retrieved a pen.

Like clockwork, Ib sniffed every few seconds, trying and failing to contain herself as she feared the worst.

The manager continued to write something down, struggling to avert his attention from the two of them. “Garry, I’ll talk to you tomorrow afternoon.”

Garry could hardly find the words. “She was jealous of Ib, sir. She’s been sending us threats constantly!” It wasn’t hard to keep going when the bottled-up anxiety was finally relevant. “She’s going to have us killed! She--”

Ib grabbed a wastebin and ran out of the room, pushing Garry aside in the process. The manager jumped up from his desk, but hesitated to follow her out.

As the severity of the situation clicked for the manager, the two of them fled the room after Ib.

She’d fallen down in the middle of the hallway, gasping and heaving into the little plastic bin. Garry kneeled down next to her, failing to collect himself completely when the sound of her expelling fear and whatever they had eaten the night before made him feel just as nauseous.

The manager stepped past them, seemingly in a rush. Garry looked up, questioning him through the worry in his face. “I’m going to talk to Mary.” He said, answering Garry’s unasked question. His portly face disappeared as he turned, running off to find his daughter behind the door a few feet away.

The only sound that echoed down the hall was Ib’s desperate gagging and the rustling of the (thankfully present) plastic bag inside. Garry’s breath shook, but he tried to reassure her (and, in a way, himself) as he rubbed her back.

“Everything will be alright,” he repeated on end, but he couldn’t even believe himself. The only thing that could help them now was police intervention, and somehow even that seemed too far out of reach.

Maybe even Mary was beyond that.

Carrie stepped in from the back door down the hall, bringing in the cold with her. The sounds Ib made eventually caught up to her while she shrugged off her overcoat, and her attention was drawn to her from yards away. Throwing the coat off, she ran down the hall towards them, falling next to Ib with an arm outstretched.

The three of them hardly spoke, but the attempts to soothe Ib out of her sudden sickness remained until Carrie finally stood to go find Mary.

She turned and ran to the door a few feet away, but was stopped when she recognized that the murmuring voices beyond the door belonged to her boss and Mary herself. Being Carrie, she pressed her ear to the door. Neither Ib nor Garry noticed, too caught up in the moment.

Ib started to calm down, and the nausea ceased. She’d broken out into a sweat, her face glistening from the unwanted effort of retching out of stress. With the sleeve of his shirt, Garry wiped her face down, making sure everything stayed out of her eyes.

Carrie’s face was stricken with terror, and it took a minute for Ib to realize what she had been doing. Ib stared on passively, still heaving as she tried to recover. Garry looked up when he realized where Ib’s attention was focused.

Carrie stepped away, hand over her mouth. She shared a silence with them and stepped forward slowly, hushing the click of her heels.

Ib and Garry were silent.

Carrie’s breath shook, and what had been said from beyond the door finally registered.

“I heard Mary’s secret.”

* * *

The whole thing was beginning to lose them.

Ib sat next to Garry, trembling so violently that she couldn't quite hold her hands together. A stretch of unnerving silence became too much to bear. He took her shaking hands in his, arm wrapped around her shoulder to keep her close.

There wasn't a string of words to describe the mess they'd made. He kissed her, nuzzled into her hair, and she came undone. Garry could feel himself being dragged down with her.

Ib’s apartment was small. Much smaller than Garry’s, in comparison.

Ib couldn't sit still. She needed to get out, but what waited for her outside?

“He doesn't even care,” she sobbed. Her tears came in waves, and Garry couldn't think of anything to do to help her.

* * *

The sound of screeching tires was still ingrained in her mind. The final strings of warning texts before Garry couldn't take it anymore. Garry’s phone hitting concrete as they drove away.

“ **Mary** (32 mins ago): Did you make the right decision?”

“ **Mary** (32 mins ago): They're outside the police stations now.”

“ **Mary** (30 mins ago): I never want to see either of you again.”

“ **Mary** (21 mins ago): Azalea St., heading to Wax Ln.”

“ **Mary** (19 mins ago): Turned right on Juniper St.”

“ **Mary** (19 mins ago): bye bye, Garry’s phone :-)”

Paranoia had already set in, within reason. She was always watching. Her eyes were everywhere.

At any corner, they would gun her down. They would be waiting. She would die today. Tomorrow. The day after. The next. No matter how many times she evaded Mary, Mary would find her again.

What choice did Ib have?

She had held onto her phone. She refused to let her phone go. At least the warning texts had let Garry know he was being tracked down, but now Garry didn’t have that luxury. She wouldn’t be able to make sure he was okay. That killed her more than anything. All she had to do was tell him to wait. Keep her apartment safe.

In hindsight, it was a dumb idea. He should have come along. She couldn’t dwell on that now.

Ib was more agitated than anything. In tears and very agitated. She gripped her seatbelt and steering wheel in constant terror. Every stop sign or light had her on edge. She’d had anxiety, but never on this scale.

**Dialing...**

She hit speakerphone.

Her phone rested in her lap as she drove along. It rang once… twice. She stopped at a light. The third ring was cut off. Her leg bounced, and, realizing it, she stopped herself.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?” Ib asked, too tired for any inflection.

“I’m at the club, but you don’t work here anymore, so--”

“Then let me in.”

White noise. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in five minutes.”

Ib was left with a sample of giggling before the line went dead.

Five minutes was a bit of an overestimation, but she hadn’t thought to correct her. Her mind was busy with other things.

She needed to occupy herself again. Anything to somehow convince Mary not to kill her.

**Dialing…**

Speakerphone again. It couldn’t even ring through once before she picked up instantly.

Ib was met with an exaggerated sigh. “What now?”

“I’m right around the corner, so I’ll be there in a minute.”

“I’m already at the back door.”

“I don’t want anyone there with you.”

Mary’s laughter was cut off again.

 **Call ended.** 0:09

She turned into the gravel lot, her tires throwing rocks into the underbelly of her black VW. She recognized Carrie’s car and a few others without faces or names she could pair them with, but a couple were unfamiliar entirely. It wasn’t a working night, but a few people had likely stayed just to talk. It was a workplace, but it was also a commons, in a way.

Ib didn’t care either way who was there or not, as long as Mary was there. Ib was playing a losing game now.

Turning into an empty, unmarked space, it dawned on her what she was doing as she retrieved the keys from the ignition, lacing them through the gaps in her fingers like daggers. Her hands still shook. Her eyes still watered. She feared, more than anything, someone waiting outside for her.

A moment of sitting in the driver’s seat was enough for her. She had to keep moving. The seatbelt reeled itself in, and she pushed the door out and away, gravel crunching under her boots as she stepped out.

The sounds of traffic were distant, but ever present. For a moment, she thought it would be a good idea to find herself in it. Her car horn honked into the night as she locked it from a few feet away, headlights flashing to reveal the outer edge of the forest nearest to her empty. The lot was empty, too, and that was all the reassurance she needed.

Though Ib no longer had a way to get in by herself in any other circumstance, she found the door propped open with one of Ib’s practice shoes posthumously wedged against the frame. She stepped over it, kicking the barely-worn leather shoe down the hall. The door slammed shut behind her, the automatic lock clicking.

She clutched her purse. Only a few fluorescent lights shined down on her. There was no work today. She wondered if anyone was with Mary. She could hear hushed voices from behind closed doors as she passed each one.

She stopped in the middle of the hall to double-check the contents of her purse. Confirming her phone and various other things remained, she zipped it shut. It was too loud for comfort, even if there was hardly any noise at all.

Could she fix anything at this point? That was a thought.

The walls echoed her footsteps, squeaking against the laminate. Down the hall, she could see the toe of her other practice shoe holding open the door to what she had previously called her dressing room.

Ib’s expression went hard. It was an out-of-body experience just being there, knowing what awaited her beyond the door.

The door squeaked open.

Mary sat with perfect posture, hair pulled up into a ponytail. Her eyes met Ib’s in the mirror.

Her face lacked any color, and Ib knew she had put too much effort into looking infinitely better.

Mary giggled, showing off her manicured nails as she blocked her perfect, straight smile. She’d really done herself up: blue ribbons in her hair, eyeliner to her brow bone, long glued lashes, no clothes. Mary beat her to the comment she knew was coming. “It was a last-minute decision. I thought it was clever, you know… showing you the bare bones.” She laughed again, a little too genuine for comfort.

Ib stared her in the face, blank, arms crossed.

She felt disgusting compared to Mary, having washed off all her makeup after smearing it across her face. Surely that was what Mary had wanted all along.

“Daddy told me you quit,” she continued with a grin, picking up her multi-sided nail filer from Ib’s old vanity counter where Mary now sat.

“It’s not like I had a choice,” Ib spat.

Mary smirked, still watching her nails as she filed them down. “In a way, you did.” She cocked her head, paying more attention to her self-manicure than anything. What did you need from me, then?”

“I want to know what you want from me now that I’m gone.”

Mary blew on her nails, dust flying into the mirror. “Nothing, anymore. You’ve already left the club.” A realization struck Mary, and she gasped, looking up at herself in the mirror before turning. “No, you haven’t done everything yet! There’s one more thing.”

A pause.

“You want me to leave Garry.”

Mary sighed, throwing down her colorful filer onto the counter, out of her vision. “I know you’re not some Juliet, Ib.” She rested her elbow on the counter, cheek against the palm of her hand. “Just leave him.” Mary shrugged.

The scene in front of her felt more unbelievable than ever.

“You don’t really want him,” Ib reminded her.

“Well, with both of you gone, wouldn’t it be a little lonely?” She pouted. “I only really wanted one of you gone.” With a dark, near-silent giggle, she turned back and continued her manicure. “Do you need anything else from me?”

Ib puffed up her chest. The room was spinning more than ever. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. “I came to give you a gift.”

Although more interested in her manicure, Mary’s brows rose. “Oh, what for?”

Ib made her way to a stool behind Mary, sliding her purse off her shoulder onto the seat. Mary made a passing glance at her before turning back to her nails.

“I thought we could make up.” She unzipped the bag, sifting through her purse to find what she needed. “I might as well give it to you, even though I know it won’t mean that much anymore.”

“That’s sweet, but I’m still going to fuck your boyfriend.”

“Have fun with that.” The blood rushed to her head.

“Carrie kept telling me about all the kinky shit he’s into.”

Ib couldn’t recall anything too far beyond the definition of vanilla. “Like what?” A glint of light from inside her purse excited her, and she reached for it.

“Well, for starters, there’s--” A gasp choked her into silence.

A moment of silence made it hard for Mary to separate fantasy from reality, but the burning sensation from her thigh made it clear. A strangled scream made its way from her throat, but she remained unmoved.

She found it.

Ib twitched, feeling the blade’s edge scrape against the bone and tissue. She began to cry.

Mary could only watch the knife below her as she descended into shock. “Why did you do that...?”

Ib struggled to pull the blade from Mary’s flesh and tissue until it finally gave. She’d painted her palms red. It glistened in the fluorescent light.

The plastic handle of Ib’s blade was drenched in sweat from her palms. It slipped, falling onto the carpet. A splatter of blood stained her socks and shoes. Mary gasped again, a wet sound from her throat. She retched, slamming her hands against the counter before her.

Blood oozed from the gash, dripping onto the chair and carpet as it went from a drip to a pour.

Mary didn’t speak or cry, only gasped for air while she leaned against the counter. She tried to choke out slurs, then apologies and repentances, but Ib couldn’t think to speak. A moment of strangled silence, and Mary went crashing to the floor, screaming for help.

Unable to believe what she had done, she picked up the blade and threw it onto the counter, leaving a bloody splatter across the vanity’s dirty finish.

As Ib turned to leave, the door to the dressing room opened. Ib couldn’t bear to look up until she heard footsteps down the hallway, but by then, it was far too late.

Ib was unwilling to do anything else nor did she have any other business there, so she decided to leave. She ran after the screaming witness down the hall, leaving Mary behind to convince herself nothing had happened.

If she left the room behind, no one would know anything had happened. Just the thought was enough to convince her.

She would be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The morning of September 19th roused me awake with a blinding beam of light, and I found myself waking with an ailment that kept me bedridden. The pressure on my skull became too much to bear, and I thought it cruel, yet comical that plant life awaited me outside, yet I could not bring myself to see it, due to my congestion and poor health. How ugly I must have been in my anguish, while the world outside seemed so tender, yet all the while so beautiful and strong.
> 
> rot in hell mary, you piece of fucking garbage


	18. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

Walking into a courtroom and running into the parents of an (attempted) murderer you boned more than once was not ideal in the least. Especially if you were part of the reason said person was there.

Garry would’ve felt better in his suit, hair done up and face cleanly shaved, if he hadn’t been defending Ib against the possibility of near-life in prison, faced with the damage Ib had done in pictures and words.

Mary’s absence in the room was just another reminder hanging over Ib’s head, but that was the least of her concern. Photos of gaping leg wounds flashed before Ib over and over. She couldn’t stomach facing them, but frozen in fear, her lifeless eyes were fixed on the projection of the crime scene and any injury Mary sustained that night. Ib's empty stomach churned.

Carrie sat among the crowd, restless. Garry couldn’t bear to look at her, but he could feel her eyes on him every so often.

The moment the photos disappeared, all eyes were on Ib again. She thought she might as well be used to them if the last ten days had happened, but this was different. She may have been the main source of entertainment in both instances, but now the rest of her life was at stake. At least, more than it had been before.

Ib’s father was a lawyer, a revelation to Garry, and it made him wonder why Ib had even started stripping in the first place if she had been born into that money. It was her choice, but if the choice was for money, she had nothing to worry about from the start.

Suddenly, it all became pointless.

* * *

Ib’s father had been reluctant to keep Garry informed, but Ib eventually got to her dad’s head after begging him for so long. Shortly after, Garry made the first purchase he had made in days: a modest, cheap flip phone.

He had done his deed, testifying against Mary with all the conviction he could bear, but even after going on for what felt like hours, it still didn’t feel like enough. He must’ve forgotten something.

He forced food down his throat every few hours, knowing he would eventually regret not eating. His phone sat undisturbed on the kitchen counter while Garry kept himself tied down with romcoms and sitcoms and anything else he could find on his TV guide that was worth occupying him.

He was unemployed now. It was taking a while to sink in. And then, as Fever Pitch had ended and the credits began to roll, he shut off the television and retreated to his bedroom, taking his shitty little phone with him.

There was nothing else to do besides sit around and brood if he was going to hole himself up in his bedroom, but this felt more productive somehow. Staring at the ceiling, questioning every decision that had led up to that moment.

Garry drifted off eventually, exhausted from the weight of all his concerns.

The soft, rhythmic buzz of his phone on the nightstand didn’t wake him up. The caller was brought to voicemail.

“Hello, Garry... this is Ib's father. Ib is walking free tomorrow morning.”

* * *

Ib hadn’t been able to keep up with the coming and going of days. Her hair was left ungroomed. Day-old eyeliner was smudged against the hard corners of her eyes. Her nails had been bitten down to nothing, flecks of paint remaining among whatever else was left.

Her visit was a surprise, but Garry didn’t mind having her. It was her parents that he was worried about. Ib’s presence was hardly there in the room with them, head low and voice softer than it had ever been before.

Garry didn’t know what to expect.

“I’ve only heard good things about you from Ib,” Ib's mother began, lacking the enthusiasm Garry would have hoped for. “I have to thank you for taking care of her.”

How could they trust her? Their own child, who stabbed her coworker...

Garry knew the fear Ib had felt better than anyone else. He’d been there. How could they understand what they could hardly believe themselves, even out of their own child’s mouth?

Garry smiled, thinking it passed as a reply.

Her father was sour. Garry could see it in his face. At least he was protective of her. At least he’d fully believed her. That was better than anything Garry could have said for himself, though.

The tired girl in front of him was a far cry from what she had been when Garry met her. Everything about her was tired. She would have had a lot of potential if she wasn’t here. Garry was nearly convinced that it was all his fault.

Actually, it kind of was.

Ib's mother spoke before anyone else could. “Let’s take a walk, Garry.”

Garry was silenced out of shock, but he was reassured by the smile on Ib’s mother’s face. He nodded, standing from his own dining room table.

* * *

“My husband is a very protective person,” Ib's mother began, arms crossed to warm herself in the December weather. “I didn’t want you cooped up in there with him.”

“It’s fine, ma’am, really--”

“No, he’s always been like this around Ib’s boyfriends.” A smile cracked through her maternal facade. Hearing her gossip about her own husband entertained Garry somehow. He laughed cautiously.

“Thank you for that,” Garry said, his own sincerity surprising him.

“You’re welcome, darling,” she nodded, patting the arm she had hooked onto. “You’ve made her very happy. I’ve always supported her in her relationships, and I told myself you would be no exception.”

Garry could feel his face go red, and Ib’s mother giggled loud enough for Garry to notice.

“Do you mind if we sit down?” She asked, nodding to a bench along the sidewalk.

Garry perked up. “No, not at all.”

She made her way to sit, and Garry followed obediently. Sitting next to her made Garry realize how tall he was. In this respect, he could definitely see the resemblance to Ib. The length of his lanky legs overshadowed her small frame.

“She’s told me nearly everything, as far as I know,” Ib’s mother began again. “At least, I think she’s told me most of it. The strip club, that girl…”

Garry nodded, staring at the brick walls of his neighboring apartment buildings.

“Please don’t be afraid of me, Garry.”

He turned to her. “I’m not, ma’am.”

That convinced her enough. “Call me ‘mom’ for now.”

Just the thought made him nervous. Maybe he wouldn't address her directly for a while. “I was wanting to ask if Ib could live with me.”

The shock set in for Ib's mother long enough, and she found herself twirling her hair between her fingers, deep in thought.

"That's not entirely my decision to make, sweetheart..."

Garry nodded solemnly, eyes watching the cold ground. He could feel his mouth go dry.

She took his hand in both of hers, and when Garry looked up to meet her gaze, he was met with the determined stare of a proud mother.

That must’ve been how Ib picked up the habit of grabbing Garry’s hand, he realized.

“Let’s go talk to her.”

* * *

A unanimous, expected “yes”.

All four of them had returned to Garry’s dining room table, and Garry felt he could finally relax a bit with the newfound supportive presence of Ib’s mother.

“You understand she’s going to be quite the burden, Garry,” Ib’s father contributed, picking at cracks in the table with his nails. “She won’t be able to go to school anymore after this.”

“I’m fully aware.”

Ib’s mother beamed, watching her daughter’s face glow with a warmth she hadn’t seen in years. It was a solemn contemptment, but something she had waited so long to see again.

She had made the right decision.

* * *

The lack of makeup on Mary’s face was not something Ib had ever seen. Now, sitting in front of her and staring through a pane of glass, it was a surreal feeling.

Her hair was frizzy, sticking up in odd places and greasy from days of neglect. A nurse stood behind her, nearly as emotionless as Mary.

After everything that had happened, the blank edge of her expression suited her more than anything.

“I lied to you,” Mary mumbled into the phone, unable to look up through the glass. “No one was coming after you besides me.”

“Why?”

Mary wiped the sleep out of her eyes. “I don’t know.”

Her eyes were so void of any response, Ib couldn’t tell if she was being sincere or not. Why should she believe her, though? After all that had happened, she couldn’t let her guard down.

Ib could feel the sweat gather in her palms, and it became harder to hold the phone to her ear. “Because they’re still after us?”

“Wh-- no...!”

Ib scoffed. Behind her anger, though, she was terrified.

It took Mary a few seconds to get the point; after everything, she was probably the biggest liar Ib and Garry had ever met.

“Maybe you can’t believe me,” she began after the realization, “... but there’s no reason I should keep this up. I owe it to you to tell the truth.” Her eyes watered, and for an instant, Ib pitied her. Just an instant before the salty taste of anger in her mouth pulled her away from any guilty immersion.

Could Mary even _feel_ guilt?

“I still don’t believe you.”

She slammed the phone down. At the noise in the receiver, Mary jumped, reduced to sniveling into the dead line.

It felt good to Ib to be wearing heels after so long of going around barefoot, she realized. Past security, Garry sat tapping his foot anxiously.

Ib’s fingers grazed his leg to get him to stop, and it took him until then to look up and realize she was there, bundled up in her coat and ready to go. He stood, taking her hand out of her pocket and lacing his fingers in hers.

He retrieved his phone from his back pocket. “Your stuff is at my place,” he said, going through the task of pulling up a message from Ib’s father. Alternating messages were displayed on the screen, the most recent being from Garry. Before she could read them from that distance, he pulled the screen away and tucked it back in his pocket.

Something about the situation unnerved her. It was happening too fast for her to process, but she would have to go along for the ride for now. Maybe she would be able to live if she coasted along for a while.

“I told your mom about all the things I couldn’t fit in my house,” Garry continued, watching his feet crunch the snow beneath him.

Ib looked up, snowflakes dotting her lashes. “Like what?”

Garry shrugged, swaying like a ragdoll. “Just your bed, really.”

“I don’t think I needed it, anyway.”

Garry tried to keep his nonchalance, but a smile cracked through before Ib could beat him to it.

* * *

It took a while for Ib to relax into her new bed, fingers running up and down Garry’s forearm as she watched the ceiling in a daze. It was already starting to feel like home, and for having known him for such a short time, she was surprised they had caught on so well.

Looking back on the day, Ib swallowed her regrets. She would go visit Mary and apologize again, if she could. Maybe take Garry with her. Maybe--

“Ah…”

Garry turned his head, fried hair rustling against the sheets. “What is it?”

“How did we end up like this?”

Garry watched the ceiling again, and as he tried to remember, he lost it completely.

“I don’t know. It feels like it’s been years.”

It certainly wasn’t years. It couldn’t have been more than a couple weeks, Ib knew that. She rested her hand on her stomach, breathing rhythmically.

“I’m gonna miss that place,” Ib sighed.

Garry chuckled, prompting her to turn her head out of confusion.

“What’s so funny?”

“I still work there.”

Ib bolted up. “What do you mean?!”

Garry’s smile was tired as always, snaking his arms around her waist affectionately. He was too exhausted to sit up to give her the news.

“I’m the new manager.”

“Garry!” She punched him playfully in the shoulder, and he recoiled, giggling like a child. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I just figured it out!” He cried, rolling onto his side to dodge Ib’s swinging.

The shock passed quick enough, and she fell onto her side next to him, delighted by the news.

Maybe this was alright. Maybe this ending was good enough.

If they were together, it would surely be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for sticking around to read all of this. it means so so so much to me. it's been such a long journey! 
> 
> i'll be back with more soon, i'm sure. until then, see you!
> 
> ibsexual@tumblr


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